Bicentennial
by Marilee Susan Way
Summary: <html><head></head>Two Hundred years ago, a seventeen-year-old wizard forced a Dark Lord to flee the British Isles, and—temporarily, at least—abandon his campaign to rule there. Now it may be up to another seventeen-year-old to stop him from returning, and with some help perhaps, end the threat of Lord Voldemort once and for all. EPOV</html>
1. Chapter 1: The Unlikely Discovery

Chapter 1: The Unlikely Discovery

__**Excerpts taken from Pensieve Transcripts BMoM-19051814-xii__

_"__I killed Severus Snape three hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore's last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!"_

_The Dark Lord's terrible words echoed throughout the Hogwarts Great Hall bringing a sudden halt to the chaos. Everyone stopped to watch—even the house elves and the centaurs. Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stood among the brave Weasley family and soon-to-be-appointed Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Each of them, along with the rest of the illustrious Order of the Phoenix, possessed an air of grim determination. _

_The fear though, was palpable from them all. They seemed to think in that moment that it might all be lost after all, as though the appearance of Harry Potter himself might not be enough to save them. But that day was the one in which House Gryffindor first earned its undying glory. Not one of them turned to leave or to flee while they had the chance. Every last wizard stood strong, waiting to witness how it would all turn out._

_"__It's your one last chance," declared Harry Potter to the Dark Lord. He spoke with the sort of strong and carrying voice that would leave anyone wondering if he was truly but a seventeen year old boy._

_"__It's all you've got left… I've seen what you'll be otherwise… Be a man… try… Try for some remorse…"_

_And of course many scholars have brooded over what Potter meant by these words. How could he have seen what the Dark Lord would be? Was Potter actually a seer? In his year away from Hogwarts, had he perhaps come across the essence of the very divide between life and death itself? Did he truly know what lay waiting on the other side? _

_In Goldstein's biography of the hero, he discussed Potter's late-life obsession with The Veil, hidden in the Death Chamber in the belly of the British Ministry of Magic. But even Goldstein could not specifically account for the statement._

_This author would present an alternate theory on Potter's words. While evidence of the fabled 'Deathly Hallows' remains scarce to non-existent, it is clear that Potter and the Dark Lord were discussing at least one of the Hallows—the Elder Wand, arguably the most dangerous and powerful of the three—as though it were real. This provides a clue to Potter's meaning._

_"__You still don't get it, Riddle, do you?" said Potter, calling the Dark Lord by his muggle father's surname (See 'The Fall of Slytherin' by Mead & McKellar). "Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard… The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance…"_

_Potter goes on to claim that then school-mate Draco Malfoy was actually the owner of the famed 'Elder Wand' (that is, until Potter in turn disarmed him and thereby gained the wand's allegiance). It remains unclear though, how Malfoy came to 'remove the wand from Dumbledore against his will' nor does Potter reveal how Dumbledore came to possess the wand in the first place. What is clear is Potter and his companions Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley studied arcane magics during the months they disappeared, wand lore being chief among the list of fields. _

_Potter's final words to the Dark Lord were these: "So it all comes down to this, doesn't it? Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand."_

_And then, with Potter's words still echoing around them all, the enchanted ceiling was suddenly filled with the red-gold glow of a dazzling sunrise. The Dark Lord at last looked away from Potter and he stared up at it, as if mesmerized. It's difficult to say for certain, but his slitted eyes seemed to widen in shock the longer he looked._

_Evidence of Potter's extracurricular studies became obvious in the next moment as he lifted his Hawthorne wand to yell out a spell that began "Exp—!"_

_Most scholars agree he was about to yell out a form of the Patronus charm which usually has the incantation "Expecto Patronum". It is well-known that this charm was used for centuries to ward off the dark creatures known as Dementors (See 'The Ministry's Greatest Mistakes' by R. Galbraith). And it is this author's belief that Potter had discovered a way to ward off the Dark Lord using a variation of that charm. And so, when Potter claimed to have seen what the Dark Lord would be, what he actually meant was, he had seen the charm's effects on dark creatures before and knew that Lord Voldemort would soon be destroyed._

_Of course, unlike Potter, the rest of us are left to wonder and wildly speculate over what would have happened had Potter actually been able to complete the charm. It is most unfortunate that the Dark Lord, realizing he did not stand a chance, decided to flee before Potter could finish. He transfigured himself into a pillar of black smoke and disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again._

_Harry Potter biographer Benjamin Goldstein was among the scholars who sought evidence of exactly what Potter intended with his spell that day, but he was unsuccessful in locating any sort of Grimmoires or scrolls that might reveal the truth. It was hypothesized that Potter might pass the knowledge on to his children, but the Potter heirs were each as unforthcoming as Potter himself. _

_Albus Severus Potter, the younger son, died in the year 1950; he was 129 years old. And of course James Sirius Potter died before the 20__th__ century in a Quidditch accident. Neither of them had any children to pass along the knowledge of how their famous father planned to defeat the Dark Lord._

_It was said that Lily Luna Potter, the youngest child of the famed hero _married a muggle banker and disappeared entirely from the wizarding world shortly after finishing Hogwarts_. It is unlikely that she passed along any useful information to muggle children. _

_Unfortunately, without any record of Potter's findings or his plan to defeat the Dark Lord, there is no way to know how to stop him if the Dark Lord should choose to return some day to Britain. It will be up to the ministry, or more likely some brave and outstanding wizard to determine how to defeat him as Harry Potter did long ago._

_Because if we don't… then the Wizarding World will be most surely doomed._

"Have you about finished reading that rubbish, or should I come back in an hour or so? Maybe after sun-up?"

Seventeen year old wizard Edward Cullen had been sidled into a squashy armchair in the history section of Flourish and Blotts Wizarding Bookstore. He'd been concentrating though and so the unexpected interruption startled him enough that the book he was reading slid off his lap to the floor.

Crimson and gold letters gleamed up at Edward from the cover and beneath them was an artist's rendering of a green-eyed boy whose forehead was marred with a lightning bolt scar: _Gryffindor's Finest Heroes_ by Godric Westfall.

"It's hardly rubbish," he said at once, ducking to retrieve the anthology, "Westfall is one of the most dedicated Potter scholars to have ever lived."

When Edward looked up again, he found himself face-to-face with a man he'd seen often enough behind the front counter of the book shop. He was medium set with dark hair and features and he was wearing the burgundy robes of the shop's uniform. On his tan face was a highly unconvinced expression.

"And shouldn't you be trying to sell me this book instead of putting me off it? You're not a very good employee, Mister…" Edward leaned forward to see the nametag attached haphazardly to the shopkeeper's robes, "Livingstone".

Far from looking offended at the sentiment, the shopkeeper snorted a rather dry chuckle and held his hand out for the book. Edward reluctantly gave it to him.

"You know, you're not a very good customer when we get right down to it, now are you?" said Livingstone, flipping through the pages of the book, "Almost every day this summer you've come in here to read and you haven't purchased a single book beyond your basic school list. And what's worse, here you are past closing time, nose pressed into the pages of this tripe when by now I could have apparated home for the evening."

Edward glanced out the shop's windows to the indigo sky. Several stars peeked out from behind clouds, twinkling merrily in the night, but a quick look at his watch revealed it was only a few minutes past closing—not nearly enough to warrant the shopkeeper acting so put-upon.

"I had been waiting for you to get this one in for ages," said Edward, pointing back at the book, "I've been trying to get ahold of a copy ever since the bicentennial celebration but they always seem to be out-of-stock. Same with Goldstein's biographies. I notice you still haven't gotten a shipment of those."

"Goldstein is even worse than Westfall," asserted the man, "At least Westfall was able to write about someone besides Potter every now and then." He grabbed with thumb and index finger the thickest chapter in the book and then pointed to the first line on the page.

Edward adjusted his glasses and read. "Few men have lived for whom less need exists to justify a biography. Harry Potter was one of the greatest Gryffindors of all times—and in the opinion of many, not one of the greatest, but _the_ greatest."

"You see?" said Livingstone, sloppily stuffing the book back on the shelf. "Rubbish! And Goldstein is worse than that! If you want to read about Voldemort's regime, you're much better off with something less… stupid."

"Stupid? Westfall isn't… How could you even… The man's brilliant" declared Edward.

Livingstone gave an unconvincing "hmm" of acknowledgement and then walked down the opposite aisle. There were more history books here, but on the whole they appeared a great deal stuffier than the aisle where Edward had previously been reading. For one thing, the bindings were much thicker and the covers were all a stiff black or brown—no pictures at all.

Edward followed the shopkeeper, still arguing on behalf of the author. "Did you know he holds the highest score on any History of Magic NEWT from the last 300 years. And he's been nominated for the Wullizer Wizarding Historian Award nine separate times. "

"Is that so," said the shopkeeper, "Doesn't mean he has a shoddy clue about dark wizards like Voldemort."

"And you're saying you know more than Westfall, then?" challenged Edward, "He's got to be at least four times your age, first of all. And he's a renowned researcher."

The man stopped and looked at him, bushy black eyebrows lifted up past his untidy fringe. "Maybe not," he admitted, "But I do happen to have excellent taste in reading material, and Westfall is still stupid."

"So you don't agree with a single thing Westfall says about the Dark Lord?"

Livingstone looked up from where he was perusing a stack of thickly bound leather texts, "No, Westfall made one good point and that's it. He said the Wizarding World would be absolutely bushed if Voldemort ever decided to come back. Of course he we went about clarifying the point stupidly saying how it will all be up to the ministry or some unknown hero to take care of Voldemort if he returns."

"He did sound rather paranoid there," conceded Edward.

"Paranoid?" repeated Livingstone dropping his hands from the bookshelves altogether, "Hardly. We should all be prepared if Voldemort returns—not waiting on the ministry or some… _hero…_ to stop him. That's just mental."

Now it was Edward's turn to look exceptionally unconvinced. "And how exactly do you propose we prepare ourselves then?"

"Simple. By learning proper defense against the Dark Arts," said the bookseller passionately, "I know for a fact that Headmaster Chaferson has been attempting to reinstate the course at Hogwarts since he took over the school two decades ago. The average wizard who leaves Hogwarts doesn't even know how to cast a _Petrificus Totalus_ nowadays. If Voldemort returned today, the level of resistance he would meet would be laughable at best."

"Petrificus Totalus? The petrification charm? Why would we need it?"

"So you can fight!"

"Isn't that what the Aurors are for?"

"And if the Aurors happen to be infiltrated by the Deatheaters?"

"Death-Eaters?" repeated Edward skeptically, unfamiliar with the term, "You mean dementors?"

Livingstone looked highly annoyed at the question and instead of answering he turned away and moved onto to the next stack of books, moving them around, clearly searching for something. Hidden between a set of texts which Edward immediately recognized as older works by Godric Westfall was in fact a quite ancient looking volume that must have been on the shelves at Flourish and Blotts for years.

The shopkeeper snatched it up and shoved it toward Edward. "Here," he said brusquely, "This will tell you anything you could want to know about the last Wizarding War and how Voldemort was all but defeated when he fled."

Edward warily read the cover: _The Rise and Fall of Voldemort (And several useful spells for living on the run from Deatheaters)_ by: Jean Wilkins.

He flipped through it and saw miniscule print filling each one of the 800 pages, separated only by the occasional diagram.

"It's comprehensive," said the shopkeeper.

"I see that."

"And on sale for the extremely reasonable price of three galleons."

"But what about the book I was reading before?" protested Edward, "I wanted to buy that one. I told you, I've been waiting for it all summer."

"And I told you, this one is much better."

Edward considered arguing. He really had been waiting on that book for weeks. But, in all honesty, he'd already read the portion of the book that interested him in _Gryffindor's Heroes_. So why not purchase this one instead? And if Livingstone was the one in charge of ordering books at Flourish and Blotts, then it would be a very long time before any of Goldstein's works came in.

Finally he nodded.

The shopkeeper gave him a fairly grim sort of grin and then led him toward the front of the store. "Would you like this gift-wrapped?"

"Gift—why one earth would I want it gift-wrapped? It's for me, isn't it?"

"Are you interested in creating a line of credit here at Flourish and Blotts? Your loyalty could earn you rewards such as a jar of disappearing ink or even meetings with authors like Iris Cather from _Caring for Kneazles_."

"No thank you."

"Have you placed a subscription with any of these fine wizarding periodicals yet?" Livingstone pushed forward a catalogue with titles such as: _Transfiguration Today, Witch Weekly,_ and _Potion News_.

"I highly recommend _The Quibbler_. It's been in circulation for over two hundred years you know."

"No," said Edward.

"Fine then. Your loss. Your total for today's purchase comes to three galleons and one knut."

Edward removed his money pouch from the pocket of his trousers and the shopkeeper quickly deposited the coins in the till. But then as Edward turned to leave, Livingstone startled him. It seemed as though one moment he was behind the sales counter and the next he was standing right next to Edward, grabbing his arm.

"Wait," he said.

Edward whipped around so fast his glasses came askew. "What? I don't want any periodicals or coupons to the Leaky Cauldron or whatever it is you're required to offer me."

The shopkeeper was still grabbing his arm, staring down at his hand—or more accurately, his wrist, "Where did you get that watch?"

"It's a family heirloom," said Edward, pulling his arm out of the man's grasp, "I don't think they sell them anymore."

"Right, sorry. It looked… familiar for a second. Reckon it was just a trick of the light."

Edward shrugged and made to continue on his way.

"Your surname's Cullen, isn't it?"

Edward nodded.

"I don't think I've heard of the Cullens before."

"You wouldn't have," he replied, hardly keeping the acid from his voice, "I'm muggleborn."

"I see. Well, have a pleasant evening then."

Edward nodded again and made to leave, not entirely certain if he was being mocked or not. It was difficult to say with wizards sometimes, and then Livingstone was a bit of an odd bloke on top of it.

Edward walked out into the humid summer night. He tucked the book into his jumper and prepared to apparate home when unbelievably, the mad shopkeeper called out to him yet again. "Wait, Cullen!"

Entirely annoyed, Edward crossed his arms over his chest and waited, "What now?"

"It was only two galleons. Her… her book, that is._ Wilkins' _book, it was even more of a bargain than I'd thought. I owe you a galleon back."

As soon as he finished speaking, the shopkeeper flipped a galleon out of his pocket and sent it arching through the air towards Edward. Unthinkingly, Edward snatched the golden coin while it was still an arm's length out in front of him, examined it, and then deposited it in his jumper pocket. When he looked up again, Livingstone was gazing at him very approvingly, as though Edward has just passed some sort of examination—though Edward could hardly fathom what it was.

"Nice reflexes, Cullen."

"Er, thanks."

The shopkeeper gave him another grin—the same grim, not entirely jolly grin, just like he'd done earlier in the shop. And then he disapparated.

It was very sudden and Edward was not certain he'd seen quite right. The usual bang that accompanied apparition, like a car backfiring, or a gun discharging, was conspicuously absent. In its place was a soft snapping sound, almost like popping the lid off a fresh bottle of milk. Edward had never heard anything like it.

With a final exasperated shake of his head, Edward turned on his heel and pictured his sprawling, ivy-covered home on the southern edge of Bath. Not a moment later, there he was, standing in the front entranceway and stowing his jumper in the cupboard by the door.

"Mum, I'm home!" he called.

"In the kitchen, dear!"

There was a long tiled corridor between the front of the house and the kitchen, with doors on each side that concealed sitting rooms and studies leftover from when the house had served as a rectory. The sweet smell of cinnamon and nutmeg permeated the entire area, easily drawing Edward to the back. And when he pushed open the door to the kitchen, Edward was surprised to see not only his mother, icing biscuits on cooling racks, but his father as well, reclined in the kitchen nook with a number of files and a laptop laid out in front of him.

"'Lo Edward," he greeted, looking up from his work to sip from a floral patterned cup of tea, "Have a nice day in Diagon Alley?"

"Not bad. I spent most of my time at Flourish and Blotts."

"Oh, the bookstore, was it? Did you come across anything interesting?"

Edward snagged two of the beautifully iced sweets from the tray closest to him and took a seat across from his father. The man grinned when Edward handed one over.

"Those are supposed to be for the children!" exclaimed his mother when she spotted them, dunking the biscuits in the lone cup of tea between them.

"Oh come now, Esme dear, surely you expected to share at least a few with Edward and I, didn't you?"

"What I expected, Carlisle, was for you two to be well above taking sweets from the sick children at your own hospital. Clearly I was mistaken."

Edward's father, Carlisle Cullen, guiltily lowered his biscuit to his plate. Edward on the other hand thought the sick children at Il Sandra Medical Center had had far more sweets from Esme than he, Edward had ever had. And he was supposed to be the woman's own son! (Biologically speaking, she was technically his aunt, but that was neither here nor there).

"Have you no shame, Edward?" she protested as Edward finished off his biscuit.

"I'm not sure," he replied, "Maybe I should try out another and see if any comes to me then?"

His father chuckled and sipped from his lukewarm tea.

"Impossible, the both of you!" declared his mother and returned to her work decorating the little pastries.

Carlisle took the opportunity to return to his work as well—typing up some of his case files, or so it appeared to Edward. And Edward had his book from Flourish and Blotts resting on the table before him. He had already spent hours reading earlier in the day and his eyes were strained, but he could read just a little bit longer, he thought.

Edward swiped at his eyes beneath his glasses and tried to rub some wakefulness back into them. Esme deposited a tea setting in front of him and he smiled at her gratefully. He opened to the first page and focused on the tiny print.

_"__The first and most important thing a student of wizarding history should understand about Lord Voldemort's reign is that it had begun before the child known as Tom Marvolo Riddle was ever born. A prejudiced society full of inherent benefits for a certain class and an obstacle course of pitfalls for the opposing class—that is what brought on the reign of a Dark Lord such as Voldemort. Only carefully seeking to understand this past along with an air of conscientiousness on the part of all wizarding society can prevent the same from happening again. We can only hope—."_

"Ugh, my eyes," complained Edward snapping the dratted volume closed.

Carlisle looked up at him. "Do you need your prescription updated? You really should have mentioned that at your eye appointment last week. An optometrist can only accomplish so much without the patient's cooperation, you know."

"You need a new prescription already, dear?" asked Esme, slightly exasperated, "What is with those eyes of yours, anyway? You know the Platts always had perfect vision, my sister Elizabeth included. You must have inherited your eye troubles from the Masens. Your father always wore glasses you know."

"My prescription is fine," muttered Edward, folding his glasses up and laying them on the table beside the book, "I've just spent too many hours reading today. My eyes need a rest."

Carlisle was considering him still. "What is that you're reading anyway? You've finished all of your school texts already, haven't you?"

"It's considered Wizarding History," Edward explained, "It's about a dark wizard who lived 200 years ago and almost took over all of Britain, all without the muggles having the slightest clue."

"Ah yes, Voldemort. You've mentioned him before. Defeated by a boy your own age unless I am remembering incorrectly. Harry Potter, wasn't it?"

Edward nodded and looked down at his watch, it was getting late. Seeing the watch though, made Edward think of the shopkeeper's strange reaction to it earlier. "Mum?" said Edward, "Can you tell me more about my…" he paused and gave Carlisle and apologetic look, "My birth father?"

Carlisle closed his laptop and Esme slid into the nook beside him looking warm, but serious. "Always, dear," she told him, reaching across to pat Edward's hand on the table, "Now let's see, where to begin? Edward Senior was a lawyer and just like your mother he moved to America for University. He actually grew up in Devon, not far from where Elizabeth and I were born. They were married in Chicago and lived there for several years before you came about."

Edward knew this already and nodded his acknowledgement.

"They were coming to visit Carlisle and I when the accident happened," she continued with a watery smile, just as she always did when telling the story. "They were so close too. Just outside Bath. And the ambulance of course brought you straight to Il Sandra where Carlisle and I took custody of you. It was our first time seeing you, you know. Not even a picture before then."

Esme sniffed sadly. "You were a beautiful baby. Same head of copper hair that you have now, and who could ignore those brilliant green eyes?"

Edward waited for her to recover herself. Carlisle rubbed her back and offered her some of his tea.

"Do you think… well… is it possible that my parents were wizards?" he asked at last and his heart rate quickened accordingly. This was the question that had been bothering him ever since the shopkeeper had commented on his watch. He fiddled with it and slid it off his wrist to study the familiar engraving inside: _F. P._

"Not your mother. Elizabeth couldn't have been. We were very close growing up and I think I would have noticed had she gone away for nine months out of the year to study magic," said Esme apologetically.

"And Edward Senior?"

"Mind, I didn't know your father nearly as well as I knew Elizabeth. Carlilse and I only met him a handful of times, but he always seemed fairly normal—though I admit we wouldn't have known what to look for back then."

"I suppose not," said Edward, sliding the watch back onto his wrist.

Carlisle noticed and picked up the story, "Your father was always wearing that when he visited," he said, motioning to the watch, "He once told me his father gave it to him on his seventeenth birthday as a sort of coming-of-age gift and his grandfather did the same beforehand. It was the same for generations, always on the seventeenth birthday."

"Why not the eighteenth?" asked Edward, just as he had asked when his mum and dad first gave him the watch back in June.

Carlisle shrugged, but smiled as though he had a theory.

Edward watched him and then felt his eyes open wide with surprise, "Wizards come of age at seventeen," he whispered. He hadn't thought of it before. He hadn't really had any reason to give it serious thought, but apparently Carlisle had.

Carlisle just nodded and refilled his tea.

"You don't think…"

"I couldn't say with certainty one way or the other," said Carlisle, "But you _are_ a wizard and so the chances of Edward Senior being a wizard are well… fairly good."

"At least a thousand times more likely than if I were a muggle," agreed Edward and he felt as though he had a great deal to think about. Of course it didn't matter to him if his father had been a wizard or a muggle, but it was nice to imagine some sort of history for the man. Edward didn't remember him at all, but as he fell asleep that evening, he imagined a man with hair much darker than his own, though just as unruly. He imagined the man with glasses and a kind expression on his features. And it was not a difficult endeavor to imagine him with a wand.

In a town several hundred miles north of Bath, the wizard Brian Livingstone sat alone, staring at his dinner plate so hard that it might have cracked from the intensity. The small dining room was decorated much like the rest of the small house—with piles upon piles of books and the occasional dark detector scattered about the place.

A house elf ambled into the room with hardly a wayward glance at the clutter. "Master is not eating his dinner," said the elf, "Is Master wanting something different? Silo can be making some baked potatoes, or Silo can be making a mince pie or—."

"Er, no thanks Silo. I'm fine."

Brian pushed some food around his plate and looked up at the elf again. Silo was studiously ignoring the nearest untidy stack of books.

"Silo, we've been together for over twenty years, is the mess still bothering you?" asked Brian, somewhat relieved to have a distraction.

"Of course not, Master. Silo just wishes he were allowed to clean up every now and then."

"Fine," said Brian, "Go ahead, Silo. I'm not going to stop you."

The elf looked absurdly delighted at the prospect. Only after he had piled a number of loose papers into a stack and begun organizing the nearest set of books did he realize how strange his master's behavior was.

"Is Master certain he wouldn't like a mince pie?"

"I am one hundred percent certain, Silo, thank you."

"Then something must be bothering Master," said the elf, "Master has not eaten two bites of his dinner." Silo knew it was not normally the place of someone in his station to question his or her master. But Silo's master was a peculiar wizard—most unlike any other wizard Silo had encountered before. Silo knew he wouldn't mind. And in fact, the wizard smiled down at Silo and patted the seat next to him indicating that Silo should sit down.

Silo did and brushed off his uniform (which long ago Silo had decided did not _technically _count as clothes). "What is troubling Master?"

"I never told you this Silo, but about five years ago, a muggleborn first year came into the shop in Diagon Alley. She was alone; she'd gotten separated from Professor Cope. But of course, I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was she had found her way to the center of Flourish and Blotts and the moment she reached it, she began to give a prophecy."

Silo listened attentively, wondering why his master had never mentioned he'd heard a prophecy before.

"Once I got to her, I cast a charm so no one in the shop could hear what she was saying. But I heard it. I didn't think to cast the charm on myself too, and now… now I've spent years preparing for what she said would come to pass. Only, I had to guess at some of the details and I think… I think I was wrong about part of it."

"She said to me, '_The work of the Master is nearly done. But a little longer must he wait. It will be completed by his living son. When at last returns he who brings fear and hate.'_"

Silo stared at his master, filled with awe. Not only was it the first time Silo had been told the words of a prophecy, but the prophecy itself was an important one. Silo could feel it.

But he didn't understand.

"The Master?" said Silo.

"I think she meant Harry Potter, the Master of Death according to the legend of the Deathly Hallows."

Silo gasped.

"Which means his work would be to defeat Voldemort, the one who would bring fear and hate if—well really _when_ he returns."

"Does Master think the one who will defeat Voldemort is—?"

"A descendent of Harry Potter. The _only_ living descendent of Harry Potter. I admit I had thought the part about being a 'son' would be up to interpretation. I realize now I was mistaken…"

Silo was quiet then. His master was a scholar and had taught him a great many things while Silo had worked for him. One of those things, and arguably the most important of them all, was about a dark wizard known as Voldemort, who had been temporarily defeated two hundred years ago. Silo could almost imagine how frightening it would be if the dark wizard returned to power.

According to the prophecy his master had heard, though, someone would finish him off—someone would be able to defeat him—and permanently this time too.

"Who?" asked Silo.

"He was at Flourish and Blotts today," replied the wizard, "He spends a lot of time there, always reading. He's a Ravenclaw. A prefect even, and going into his seventh year. His name is Edward Cullen."

"Cullen?" said the house elf, "Silo does not know that name. How does Master know it's him?"

"Because he was wearing Harry Potter's watch."

Disclaimer: I do not own the intellectual property rights of J. K. Rowling nor Stephenie Meyer. None of this would be possible without their inspiration... and I would probably be doing something far more productive with my time if I'd never met them. On a side note, this was posted on a bit of a whim that I may soon regret.


	2. Chapter 2: Goody Two-Shoes Gryffindor

Chapter 2: Goody Two-Shoes Gryffindor

On the morning of September first, the Cullen family were all awake and bustling by the time the sun drizzled its rays over the horizon, shining off the misty fields surrounding their home. Edward's mother, Esme was baking large quantities of sweets and pastries in the kitchen, likely hoping to stuff them into Edward's rucksack on their way to the train station. Carlisle was on the phone with doctors from Il Sandra, making sure they would survive the day without him.

Edward himself was in the downstairs library, rearranging his books so they would fit in his trunk. _The Standard Book of Spells Grade 7 _was open beside him to a page on packing spells.

Edward shifted his glasses and stared down at the one called 'Orderliness'. He gave it a try.

Wand raised first, Edward arched down and incanted "_Construo"._ Nothing happened. He positioned his wand rigidly and tried once more. Still nothing. That was very strange for Edward; he almost never came across a spell he couldn't complete on the first or second try. He'd memorized the wand movement and very carefully pronounced the spell, but that still didn't appear to be enough.

After several minutes of studying the problem, and twice telling his mum he'd be there in a second when she called him for breakfast, Edward concluded it must be that the trunk was already organized. Edward had packed it very carefully, but there still didn't seem to be enough space for everything.

"Edward, your breakfast is getting cold!"

"I'll be right there, mum!"

Edward closed the Standard Book of Spells in defeat. He would have to remove some of the books after all. He'd already packed the smallest number of robes and clothing articles he could manage. But which books could he leave? They were all so important, and who was to say which he would need and wouldn't during his NEWT year at Hogwarts?

Edward regretfully took out his worn copy of _Hogwarts, A History_. That book was thick as any three normal sized volumes. After more rummaging he came across a book he still had not yet managed to read. It was _The Rise and Fall of Voldemort (And several useful spells for living on the run from Deatheaters)_, the one the shopkeeper at Flourish and Blotts had convinced him to purchase.

Edward opened to the Table of Contents to give it one last look before he left it behind. Item number 17 caught his attention though: 'A Library in a Handbag'. Now that sounded like a useful spell.

Edward carried the book with him to the breakfast table where he swallowed his eggs and bangers, hardly tasting them at all. The book lay open to the appropriate chapter, and Edward simply could not tear himself away now that he'd finally started the book. It really was fascinating. Wilkins and her two friends had been on the run from Voldemort and his associates (whom Edward had learned were called Deatheaters), apparently because Wilkins was a muggleborn just like everyone thought Edward was.

Edward had never realized Voldemort had been so strongly opposed to muggleborns. The Dark Lord was a half-blood himself, wasn't he? Everybody knew that, it was one of the first things Edward had ever learned in regards to the evil man. It was that he was a half-blood and that he'd been single-handedly responsible for murdering some of the finest wizards and witches of the generation. His followers had decimated the population. These were all things any wizard could tell you about Voldemort.

But that he was obsessed with striking down muggleborns? And apparently a self-proclaimed champion for a pureblood aristocracy? Edward hadn't had a clue. That shopkeeper, Livingstone, had been absolutely right about the book. It really was about a hundred times more informative than anything Westfall had written.

"Edward, haven't you finished packing yet?"

"I'm packed, Dad," said Edward, not looking up from his page. He must have read twenty already.

"Then why are there books lying about the study, son? And your mother wants to know why you've neglected to pack any of your jumpers."

Edward finally looked up. His plate was gone—Esme must have taken it—and Carlisle was already holding his car keys ready to leave. "Now I know the castle's plenty warm, and I'm sure there are spells to keep yourself warm if it came to it, but it'd set your mother at ease if you'd pack at least one. She's worried you'll catch cold."

Edward glanced down at his watch, knew he must be mistaken, and then looked more carefully a second time.

"It's after eight!" Edward exclaimed, jumping to his feet, "The train'll have left by the time we get there! Why didn't you stop me sooner?"

Edward didn't wait for a response. He sprinted out the room toward the study, tore out his wand and said the spell he'd read about in Wilkins' book. The trick to casting an undetectable extension charm was to really understand the space you wished to expand. And after packing, repacking, and then unpacking the trunk over and over again for seven years now, Edward felt as though he understood his trunk better than he understood basic Transfiguration (his best subject).

That's why casting the charm turned out to be just as simple as turning a matchstick into a needle. The trunk didn't look any different at all, his belongings were still stacked to the top, but he had no trouble squeezing his books back inside and locking it closed. In fact, Edward likely could have stacked in the lamp and the lounge chair as well without too much difficulty. He didn't have the time though.

He cast a charm to make his trunk light as a feather and then ran it down the corridor to the front entranceway where Esme was holding a jumper she must have pulled out of the cupboard by the door. The door was open and Carlisle was already out in the drive with the car running and the boot open.

"You're not leaving without at least one jumper," said Esme firmly.

There really was no reason to argue now. He'd only left out the jumpers in the first place because he was afraid he wouldn't have enough room for his books. But now he could pack every one of them if he wanted. Only then he'd be late.

"Fine mum, but wizarding robes are very warm, just so you know."

He grabbed the jumper, tossed his school trunk in the back of Carlisle's car, and then they were off, headed for London and King's Cross Station.

With Edward's constant prodding, Carlisle drove much faster than he normally would and they made it to the train station in record time. Carlisle parked the car and then the three of them headed for the hidden platform between 9 and 10.

They stood just out of the way and said their goodbyes. Esme wasted no time in wrapping him in a hug and telling Edward just how much she and Carlisle would miss him while he was away. She handed over his rucksack and just as Edward had suspected, it was filled to the brim with lemon puffs and miniature blackcurrant pies.

Edward thought he might have to cast yet another undetectable extension charm.

"Thanks mum," said Edward, "I expect I'll be turned into a giant marshmallow when I finish all this."

"It's what I've always wanted," she teased, a bit teary-eyed, "A marshmallow for a son. I've heard they're quite partial to mushy and protracted goodbye hugs."

"Mushy because you've squeezed their guts out."

"I do my best, dear," she told him.

She gave him another hug as if to prove her point and then passed him along to Carlisle. His goodbye was far more dignified. "It's your last year," he said, smiling proudly, "Where's the time gone?"

"Haven't the foggiest," said Edward.

"NEWTS are at the end of the year, aren't they?"

Edward nodded. "If my marks are high enough, I'll be able to take a job with the Ministry or maybe even the International Confederation of Wizards."

"I'm sure you'll do splendidly."

"Thanks dad."

"Oh, before I forget," said Carlisle, fumbling around in his pocket for something, "You left this on the kitchen table. I thought you might need it. After all, you're meant to wear it at all times, aren't you?"

"Oh, my badge." He could hardly believe he'd forgotten it. And how embarrassing would it have been to have to tell Professor Cope, or even worse Headmaster Chaferson that he needed another Prefect Badge because he'd lost the first one. He was supposed to be the responsible one!

Edward hastily stashed the pin in his rucksack with the load of sweets and then told his parents goodbye one last time. It was only two minutes shy of eleven by the time he made it on the train and the Hogwarts Express was just about completely filled up.

Edward led his weightless trunk behind him moving from the front of the train back, searching for an empty compartment. As a seventh year, Edward knew most of students he came across and it wasn't difficult to pick out the members of each of the Houses he recognized. For instance, Tyler Crowley, a Gryffindor in his own year crossed paths with him almost as soon as he boarded the train. And another seventh year, but a Hufflepuff named Benjamin Summons said a polite hello shortly thereafter.

A fourth year Slytherin named Irinia Denali invited Edward to sit with her and her friends about halfway back, but he declined with a shudder. The Denali sisters had always been just a little too friendly toward Edward; he couldn't figure out their angle. And if there was one thing he knew about Slytherins, it was they almost always had an angle.

Even further back Edward came across a group of fifth year Gryffindors whom Edward was even more determined to avoid. Jacob Black and his friends Embry Call and Quill Ateara were the rambunctious sort of Gryffindors who liked to cause trouble and thought spilling stink sap on Syltherins was an idea for a great time. Edward had deducted points from them on many occasions over his last two years as a prefect and was in no mood to begin doing so before they'd even reached Hogwarts.

The next compartment down though revealed another familiar face—well really, it was the back of her golden head, but that long blonde hair was unmistakable. Edward was contemplating stopping in to say hello when the compartment door was thrust open with a crash.

Rosalie Hale, the Slytherin seventh year prefect stood facing a group of three Ravenclaw boys. But for the blue and gold ties, Edward would hardly have recognized them as such. Their pale, terrified faces were no help in identifying their year or names, but Edward estimated they were around third or fourth year students.

"And if I find out you so much as _think_ about talking to her again," said Rosalie, loud and firmly, "I'll do far worse than turn you into toads." Rosalie lifted her arm to point at each of the boys' most sensitive areas and only then did Edward realize that she was sheltering by her arm what appeared to be a small first year girl. "Professor Molina says he's _never_ seen a better severing charm than mine."

Each of the boy's gulped and one of them made a toadlike croak before Rose dragged the girl out of the compartment by her shoulders. "Hello Edward," she said smoothly when she turned, "Fetch Renesmee's trunk for me. It's the one on the left."

Edward nodded and stepped into the compartment. He didn't bother giving the boys a sympathetic look as he heaved the trunk down from its rack, cast a featherlight charm on it and then stacked it atop his own. He imagined they must have done _something_ awful to warrant Rosalie's ire—she wasn't a friendly sort exactly, but she also didn't dole out threats like that for nothing.

Edward let the door slide closed behind him and then followed Rosalie and her first year companion down to the last car of the train and then to the very last compartment. Edward levitated the girl's luggage up onto the rack next to Rosalie's elegant forest green one. Then after a bit of consideration he levitated his own up into the free space beside theirs. Everywhere else had appeared to be full so that compartment seemed as good a place to settle as any other.

"Edward Cullen," began Rose once he was comfortably seated, "Meet Renesmee Dwyer."

The girl, Renesmee, shyly looked up from where she was studying the moving portrait on a chocolate frog card. "Pleased to meet you," she told him.

"Er, how do you do," he replied and looked to Rose questioningly.

With her perfectly symmetric features scrunched up in disgust, Rose explained, "They'd cast a tarantella on her," she began, voice venomous, "Thought it'd be funny as she's a muggleborn and had never heard of the Chudley Cannons."

"The quidditch team?"

"The one and only," said Rose.

"They're top of the league and have been for more than a century," piped in Renesmee, who'd apparently been educated in spite of the bullying.

"I'll make sure Professor Cope gives them a detention when we get to school," promised Edward.

"You do that," said Rose, "But prefect or not, I'm still a Slytherin and I will happily curse off any combination of body parts I see fit if those boys so much as stand in my way after this. And if they bother any more first years, I'll boil those body parts to tiny disfigured little bits in a Draught of Living Death afterward—that way Madam Hammond won't be able to reattach any of them. I think I'll do it in front of them too. Bind them up so they can't move while I brew the potion. See how they like it when—."

"Um, Rose?" said Edward.

Renesmee had abandoned her chocolate frog card for watching Rosalie. With each level in the threat, the girl's eyes grew wider and more impressed.

Rosalie looked up and then crossed her arms over her chest, eyes flashing. "Cursing innocent little girls, it's inexcusable, that's what it is."

Edward was a bit worried about what the impressionable, yet-to-be-sorted first year might be learning from all this. "You don't think that's all a bit—er—dramatic?" he said, tilting his head significantly toward the girl.

Rose's eyes narrowed and for a moment Edward thought she might aim some of the vitriol at him. He could handle it, of course. He'd heard it all before and they'd still managed to be, if not friends, then at least something akin to partners ever since that Hogsmeade weekend in fourth year when they'd met.

Instead she just rolled her eyes. "I suppose I might have been a _tad_ dramatic in my descriptions. My apologies Renesmee. I ought to have set a better example, what with being a prefect and all."

Rose went on to glare out the window, sneering at the passing city buildings as they slowly morphed into more suburban constructs. The quiet in the car didn't last for long though. "Speaking of prefects," she said, glancing over at Edward's chest where he'd only just pinned his badge. "I meant to ask you first thing, but then there was that whole mess with Davies and his two little dim-witted friends. You didn't get it, did you?"

"Davies!" repeated Edward, "So that was his name, I was hoping it'd come to me."

"Yes, yes. He's got an older brother in sixth year. They're both complete prats. But more importantly, the Head Boy. It's not you, is it?"

"Hm? Oh, no. Just prefect again. Did you get Head Girl, then?"

Scowling, Rose dug her badge out of her robe pocket and flung it toward Edward. By the sour expression on her face, Edward could tell the answer was no, but he examined the silver "P" nonetheless.

"I can't imagine what that daft old man was thinking," scathed Rose. "I've the second highest scores in every single class, right after yours. I've never been caught doing any sort of illicit activities, unlike at least some of the prefects I could mention. And my mother is even on the school's bloody board of directors."

"Language Rose," said Edward, tilting his head toward the first year once again.

She rolled her eyes, "All I know is if Chaferson wasn't so blood—blooming biased toward Gryffindor, he might have been able to pull his head out of his… his… agh, forget it, out of his arse long enough to realize that _I_ was the only logical choice for Head Girl, and _you_ were the only logical choice for Head Boy."

Much to Edward's dismay, the first year was raptly watching Rose speak, drinking up her every inappropriate word.

Rose continued unimpeded and the cursing grew worse. Edward thought an uninformed party would never suspect she'd been raised to be a perfect pureblood lady. "I've a feeling it's that sodding Hufflepuff Mike Newton who's got it by the way. I saw him on the train platform before we left trying to round up students like a bloody sheep dog. Puffing his chest out as if he didn't almost wet himself in front of everybody when he tripped on that venomous tentacula root in third year."

"To be fair, a venomous tentacula bite is deadly," said Edward, "But was that Newton? I thought for sure it was his friend Longbottom."

"No, Newton was doing what he always does, trying to impress that uppity little Gryffindor of his. And speaking of _her_, I will seriously consider transferring to Beauxbatons for seventh year if Chaferson picked that stupid, goody two-shoes Gryffindor for Head Girl over me."

Renesmee perked up then, and before Edward could say anything about how Rose was being highly unfair toward the Gryffindor Prefect, or that the Gryffindor would in fact make a perfectly excellent Head Girl, and that she certainly didn't belong to Newton in any capacity whatsoever (at least not to Edward's knowledge), she said, "The new Head Girl? I know who it is!"

The girl never got the chance to say though because at that moment the compartment door slid open to reveal the spiky haired, baby-faced Hufflepuff, Mike Newton, himself. And Edward could not help but notice he was all but puffing his chest out, much as Rose had just described, to reveal a shiny badge shaped like a capital H. Edward looked past him to see who else was with him and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up.

"Well, well, speak of the devil," muttered Rose and she turned to glare out the window, obviously intent on ignoring their visitors.

It was Isabella Swan, the Gryffindor Prefect, looking equal parts sweet and uncertain as she always did. Her face was marred with worry though, which wasn't an unattractive look for her, but it did make Edward frown.

"There you are Renesmee," said Bella, side-stepping Newton so she could move more fully into the compartment, "I thought you were going to sit with Jacob. I've been looking everywhere for you."

As Edward was closest to the door, he was most aware of her proximity, and the faint scent of strawberries that must have been from her shampoo. Edward mussed his hair again and glanced around the compartment. Had it been so warm in there before?

"I was going to," said Renesmee, "But he looked like he was busy with his friends, I didn't want to interrupt so I sat down in the compartment next door."

"Wait, do you two know each other?" snapped Rosalie, looking away from the window to glare at Bella.

Bella looked over and appeared slightly intimidated by the ferocity of the glare, "Er, yes? This is my sister. Do _you_ two know each other?"

"Your sister?" repeated Rose, "How is that possible? Renesmee's a muggleborn, that's why Davies and his nitwit friends were picking on her which is why I transfigured him into a—," Rosalie paused narrowing her eyes at her audience, "How can your sister be a muggleborn?"

"What do you mean, of course she's not a—wait, someone was picking on her?"

Bella looked at Renesmee for confirmation. The first year nodded one quick little bob of the head toward Bella and suddenly Bella was looking just as ferocious as Rose.

"Who?" she wanted to know, "Who was it?"

Renesmee didn't answer. Bella turned.

"Hale, tell me who it was." Her wand was in her hand as though she were ready to curse somebody right then and there and for the briefest moment, Rose almost looked impressed. But then stupid Newton had to cut in.

"You'd better give me the names," he said importantly, "I'm Head Boy so it's my job to see to any mischief-makers on the train. I'll put them down for detention when we get to Hogwarts."

Bella's hand clenched and for a moment Edward thought she might just turn her wand on Newton. Now that would have been something Edward would have paid quite dearly to see.

"I've dealt with them already," said Rose to Bella only, but then for Newton's benefit she added, "And Edward is perfectly capable of reporting them for detention. He could have just as easily been made Head Boy as you were."

Bella did not look fully satisfied, "I think I still ought to have a word with them. What did you say their names were?"

"They've been dealt with," repeated Rose loudly, "They will not be repeat offenders, I promise you."

Bella took a moment to observe the halfway fanatic gleam in the other girl's eye. Finally her righteous anger seemed to deflate. She nodded and said a quiet, "Thank you."

"Any time," replied Rose rather fiercely.

They both sent quick smiles toward Renesmee, Bella's a hundred times softer and kinder than Rose's, but smiles just the same. It was more camaraderie from the pair than Edward had witnessed in their entire Hogwarts career. He felt the tiniest kindling of hope that Rose might actually consider giving Bella a chance this year.

"C'mon Renesmee, I saw Seth's Cousin Claire sitting in a compartment a few doors down. She'll be pleased to see you."

"Alright. Goodbye Rosalie, bye Edward. And… well, thank you." She blushed sweetly as Bella led her back out of the compartment and toward the front of the train.

Newton remained and adjusted his Head Boy badge before saying, "It was really good of you two to step in when you did. Really doing an exemplary job with your… um… you know, prefectly duties." He smiled benevolently at them before adding, "Bella may be Head Girl this year but she can't be everywhere at once. And of course she worries for Renesmee, what with being a halfblood and all, and would you believe she was—."

"Newton!" snapped Rosalie. Her face was scrunched up in fury. A fury that had appeared as soon as Newton had mentioned the word Head Girl.

"Er, what?"

"Get. Out."

Newton looked at her with wide eyes for a moment before regaining himself, "You can't tell me what to do," he said, "I'm Head—."

"NOW!" snarled Rose.

"Er, right."

The compartment door slid closed behind him and then it was just Edward left alone with a fuming Rosalie. "I cannot believe him! How—how dare he do this?"

"Rose," said Edward consolingly, "I'm sure Newton didn't mean anything by it. He's just very…" Edward paused and struggled to find something halfway decent to say about the new Head Boy. The problem was, every time he'd almost thought of something, he'd picture the sickening way Newton was always trying to impress Bella Swan—always hanging around her and trying to carry her books for her. It was appalling, really. Didn't he have anybody else to harass?

"No, not him," said Rose scathingly, "Our brainless Headmaster. How dare he appoint Bella Swan Head Girl over me?"

Edward shrugged, at a loss.

"Swan nearly didn't make it into NEWT Potions, did you know that? And she didn't even bother to take Arithmancy nor Ancient Runes. She's studying bloody Care of Magical Creatures!"

"Is that so," said Edward non-committedly.

"Yes, and how does she intend to be Head Girl if she can't even look after her own sister? Well half-sister, I imagine. I'd heard that Swan's mother had run off with a muggle, but I had no idea they'd spawned a child."

"Erm right."

"Daft old fool," she muttered.

The ride continued on in silence for several hours after that. Edward had taken out the Wilkins book to continue reading and Rosalie was alternately filing her nails and glaring out the window as though the changing scenery and darkening skies were responsible for her not being made Head Girl.

The sun had fully set and they were not far from Hogsmeade Station when there was another knock on the compartment door. It was a Ravenclaw student this time, a sixth year girl who smiled brightly when she saw them.

"Edward! Rosalie! Would you like to buy a copy of the _Quibbler_?"

"Hello Alice," said Edward with a slight grin, "Where have you been?"

Alice adjusted the blue scarf she wore around her neck above her uniform and gave her wand a little wave to send the stack of magazines into the compartment ahead of her. "I've been up and down the train selling copies of the _Quibbler_. Did you know it's one of the oldest wizarding periodicals still in publication? It's been in circulation for more than 200 years!"

"I had heard that actually," said Edward, "But why are _you_ selling it?"

"Isn't it wonderful? The editor, Mr. Wilmore, offered me a job!"

Rosalie muttered one final comment about daft headmasters and then began leafing through the _Quibbler_ on top of the stack. She stopped on a page near the front, "_One Hundred Defense Techniques Using Spells You Already Know_," she read aloud, "I thought the _Quibbler_ was supposed to be filled with articles about Dithering Quatbearers and rubbish like that."

"Oh it is," said Alice happily, "But that's not all. Did you know Harry Potter himself gave his very first interview to the _Quibbler_? He was still attending Hogwarts at the time, and he used the _Quibbler_ to tell the wizarding world about how the Dark Lord Voldemort resurrected himself from the dead."

"Really?" said Edward, impressed, "How did you find out about that?"

"When Mr. Wilmore hired me he sent me all sorts of articles from when the _Quibbler_ was first started. I read them all so I could be familiar with the publication. I'm a very dedicated saleswoman."

"Hey, I've heard of this man," said Rosalie, pointing to a picture of a grey-haired wizard with a serious expression and hard chiseled features, "That's Sinbad Mariner, the old auror. My brother told me about him. He infiltrated a band of dark wizards from France and sent them all off to Azkaban single-handedly."

"Oh yes, he's a regular correspondent."

"Here, I'm keeping this," said Rosalie and she handed Alice a few knuts. Alice deposited them in a small leather purse.

"The _Quibbler_ appreciates your business," said Alice, "How about you, Edward?"

"Why not," he replied.

He took a magazine and stuffed it just inside the cover of his book. "So how was your holiday, Alice?"

"Oh it was fine. The Colson's only tried to have me exorcised once the entire summer. And then of course Mr. Wilmore stopped by and offered me the job. He gave the Colsons a good scare too. Made them promise to allow me access to my school supplies so I actually managed to finish my homework."

"Erm, that… that sounds nice," said Edward, who'd admittedly known Alice's foster family was nowhere near as ideal as his had been—though it still made him uncomfortable.

She grinned. "And I couldn't wait for school to begin. So many exciting things will be happening this year."

"Oh, erm, will they?"

"Most definitely! New friends to be made, exciting adventures, romance! September first couldn't come fast enough!"

Edward looked at Rosalie to see what she thought about Alice's excitement. But Rose just rolled her eyes and went back to reading her magazine. The thing was, as far as Edward knew, Alice had never engaged in any sort of romantic activity or exciting adventure in her entire life. And for that matter, neither had Edward. As for friends? Alice hadn't made a new friend since her first year when she'd befriended Edward. Rosalie didn't count.

The other Ravenclaws seemed to find Alice rather… strange. They'd picked on her occasionally, nothing too malicious, but sometimes they would hide her belongings or call her names. Edward stopped this whenever he could, but until he was made a prefect in fifth year, his influence as a muggleborn underclassman (and a generally underspoken one at that) had been decidedly unimpressive.

The train came to the station a little while later and Rosalie, Edward, and Alice followed the crowd of upper-year students toward the carriages that would take them to the school. The night was lit by a gibbous moon and golden glowing lanterns hung from the station's pillars. On the opposite side of the platform, Edward could make out the silhouette of Bella Swan sending the first years off with the school's Grounds Keeper, Harry Clearwater. He turned to Rosalie, "I think they could use our help gathering the first years."

Rosalie looked over and made a face, "Have Newton do it then, he's Head Boy, isn't he?"

"But we're prefects," argued Edward.

"For all the good that's done us," snapped Rosalie, "I'm not going. C'mon Alice, let Prefect Edward go save the world one first year at a time. I've better things to do."

Edward shook his head at her stubbornness and made his way through the crowd just as one of Rosalie's Slytherin acquaintances came up to start telling her all about his summer with his girlfriend. "And she's just gone on tour again with her band, maybe you've heard of them, Blood Pops and Pepperimps? She said they might even visit Hogwarts this year…"

Edward could not get away fast enough. Unfortunately, the crowd was thick and movement was very difficult for Edward which meant that by the time Edward made it to the place he'd seen the Head Girl, she was gone. And the first years were gone too, off following Mr. Clearwater down the forest path. He tried to ignore the niggling sense of regret he felt at missing them. They were likely fine without his aid, he reasoned, no need to be disappointed.

The number of students left on the platform was dwindling now though so when he looked up, he rather easily spied Bella Swan once again, now on her way to the carriages with the rest. She was in the company of the Head Boy and some of his friends now, but Edward decided he ought to catch up with her anyway—just to ensure everything had gone off okay with the first years, and her sister too. After aiding in Rosalie's rescue of the girl, Edward was left feeling a sort of responsibility toward Renessmee and he was interested to know if she was still doing alright. Also he'd never inquired on the Head Girl's summer—surely she'd had an interesting go of it as a summer intern for the Ministry's Department of Law Enforcement.

Decision made, Edward began walking toward them with purpose. But just as he was about to reach them, he saw Bella motion the three boys with her to stop near a pillar whose lantern had been extinguished. "You'll need to keep these on you at all times," he heard her say as he got nearer, and then watched as she reached out to deposit in each of the boy's hands a golden coin, "And here Mike, give these to Angela and Ben, will you?" What were those, galleons? A thousand questions occurred to Edward at that moment and they served to unconsciously bring him to a stop there on the platform, not five feet from the little group, though they'd not yet noticed him.

Bella leaned in close to talk to them, but Edward heard when she said, "There's been a lot of activity on the Low Coast and in Knocturn Alley recently," she said seriously, "It's beginning."

"Are you sure?" asked Eric Yorkie, a seventh year Ravenclaw like Edward. He was a pockmarked boy of Asian descent, captain of the Gobstones club at Hogwarts and good friends with Mike Newton as well as the third boy standing there with Bella, the seventh year male Gryffindor prefect, Tyler Crowley.

Bella happened to glance up before she could answer. Her face contorted into a look of surprise upon seeing Edward and she muttered, "I'll tell you about it later." She quickly reworked the surprise on her face into something of a smile. It was the sort of smile Edward would expect to see on a criminal upon crossing paths with a police officer; the sort that said, _Honest, officer, I'm an upstanding citizen_.

Edward smiled back nonetheless.

"Hello there Edward," she said, unconvincingly bright, "How was your summer?"

The boys in her little group all but glared at him with high suspicion and Edward barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "It was great," he replied, matching Bella's tone, "I got a good bit of reading done. Hello again Newton," he said, inclining his head, "Yorkie, Crowley. Good holidays?"

They hemmed some replies, but the Head Girl's smile became more genuine. "Oh yes, I'm sure you saw the new Westfall book at Flourish & Blotts? He wrote a whole section on Harry Potter, did you get a chance to read it?"

Edward beamed. He'd nearly forgotten over the summer that Bella was almost as much a Harry Potter nerd as he was. And scratch that nerd part, he preferred the term _scholar_. All Ravenclaws were scholars, Edward perhaps more so than most. And the story of the young Harry Potter defeating the most dangerous Dark Lord in the last few centuries was simply a topic that he'd deemed to require more research than most topics. "I did. I was at Flourish and Blotts until after closing the day it came in reading the whole thing. It was good wasn't it? I wish I could watch those memories from the Department of Mysteries, myself. That would be something."

"Oh I actually did see one," said Bella enthusiastically, "I spent a lot of time at the ministry this summer and made friends with a couple Unspeakables." They'd begun walking again toward the carriages and Newton and his cronies were left to follow along testily—apparently annoyed at having their conversation so unceremoniously hijacked. Edward wasn't particularly bothered by them though. "It was incredible, you know?" continued Bella, "Like really being there in the room with all of those amazing people. And seeing Harry Potter was just—just wow. He was practically our age!"

They'd arrived at the carriages then and Edward motioned for Newton, Crowley, and Yorkie to precede them into the closest one. Bella climbed up next and Edward made to follow when he realized one important thing. These carriages were only meant to carry four people at a time and there quite plainly were not enough seats for the five of them. Feeling put out, Edward began to climb back out when Bella stopped him.

"Wait Edward, you can have my seat," said Bella.

Now the other boys looked put out.

"Oh no Bella, you go ahead. It's not a problem."

"No Edward, I insist. No need for you to travel up to the school by yourself, is there?" Bella moved up out of her seat but did not exit the carriage. For one wild and foolish moment, Edward thought she meant for him to take her spot so that she might sit on his lap. Deciding he would not be opposed to the unconventional seating arrangement, he climbed back in and sat down expectantly.

Bella, unfortunately in this case, was not generally one to do the expected. She hopped back out of the carriage before anyone could protest.

"I've just remembered there's something I need to do," she told them. She shut the carriage door and in a flash, the horseless carriage propelled to a start—its four-person quota met and door closed must have served as a sort of signal to begin the ride toward the castle.

"Wait, I'll come with you!" exclaimed Newton at once. It was too late though. The four of them were left to stare incredulously out the window as Bella bounded across the platform toward a hooded figure none of them had noticed before.

"Who is that?" demanded Newton.

"Do you think he's dangerous?" said Edward, worriedly. He was unconsciously grasping his wand and mentally plotting out any number of spells that could bring the carriage to a stop if need be. The trouble was, none of them would leave the carriage intact and so he was reluctant to use them unless it appeared absolutely necessary.

"No I reckon it's only—," Newton paused and seemed to evaluate who he was talking to. He gave the other two occupants of the carriage one long meaningful look which they apparently knew how to interpret before he continued, "I reckon it's just one of the professors. Head Girl business, I'd wager."

"I see," said Edward, doubting that very much. But the other boys didn't seem too worried so Edward figured the meeting must be harmless enough. He shrugged back into his seat uncomfortably and did his best to ignore the malevolent thoughts he could practically feel wafting toward him from the other boys in the carriage.

He could tell they blamed him somehow for Bella's obscure behavior. Whatever, he'd never particularly liked this trio of year mates anyway. They could blame him all they wanted, but it would be a cold day in the underworld before he bothered himself with their preferences, especially in regards to Bella Swan. In fact, it would be all the better for everyone involved if they would stop having preferences at all towards the Gryffindor. He made the conscious decision not to consider too deeply his own preferences concerning her. It seemed safer, somehow.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Twilight are the intellectual property rights of people way more brilliant than I. I just wish I didn't like them so much...


	3. Chapter 3: Chaferson's House

Chapter 3: Chaferson's House

The Hogwarts Great Hall was dazzling as usual with thousands of candles floating overhead for the Opening Feast. By the time Edward arrived, nearly everyone was already seated, except of course, for the first years, whom had yet to be sorted, and Headmaster Luminoire Chaferson, who liked to make an entrance.

Eric Yorkie went to sit with some of the other seventh year Ravenclaws while Edward found his usual spot next to sixth year Alice Brandon.

"Do you suppose it would be difficult to have your sibling sorted into a different House from you?" said Alice immediately when Edward was seated.

"I'm an only child," replied Edward, certain he'd mentioned this to Alice at least several times before, "How should I know?"

"I only meant hypothetically."

"Alright then, hypothetically, what are the two Houses and how far apart in age are the siblings?"

Alice never got a chance to answer though for at that moment the seldom used door at the front of the Great Hall opened to reveal a line of first years led by Professor Cope. The hall grew silent at once and all heads turned to watch the small procession before them. The Deputy Headmistress waved her wand in an intricate pattern to conjure a round stool with a velvet purple cushion on top and the first years' eyes all popped open wide on their faces. Not half as wide though, as they did after the next feat of magic they were to witness.

All of the floating candles in the Great Hall dimmed from a shining yellow to a shadowy indigo—as they did every year at this point. A mass of shooting stars exploded beneath the night sky as depicted by the room's enchanted ceiling. The stars fell across the hall in all different shades of brilliant light and an owl hooted from somewhere in the distance. And then, in a manner that patently defied one of the very first principles of the magic of Hogwarts Castle, as outlined in the book _Hogwarts, A History_, the school's headmaster appeared before them in a flash of violet light which re-illuminated all the rest of the candles in the hall.

He stood before them in a resplendent set of robes that matched the color the candles had just been, to the effect that it seemed all the dark and mysterious light in the hall had been absorbed somehow into the wizard's magnificent cloak. His arms were raised and his black beard and hair fell in equal lengths at his front and back, long enough to be tucked into his belt had he been wearing one.

"Welcome!" he proclaimed, "Welcome first years, and welcome again upper years to what I am sure shall prove to be another thrilling and intellectually stimulating year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am Headmaster Chaferson and I am honored to present to you," he paused and motioned to a peculiar figure just at his side. It appeared to be a crumpled old hat with legs, "The Hogwarts Sorting Hat: the very one who will be responsible for placing each of you into one of the four fine Houses at Hogwarts. They are of course, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. But I will let our esteemed guest for the evening explain the rest."

The headmaster bowed and lifted the hat to reveal the small and spindly creature which had been concealed beneath. He seemed to have an overlarge head and long, bat-like ears. It was a house elf of course and upon having the hat removed from his head and placed on the stool, he stuck close to the headmaster and followed him to his spot at the center of the staff table.

"Thank you Headmaster," came a stiff, baritone voice from none other than a tear in the brim of the hat, "For that generous welcome. Now to begin." The hat coughed to clear its nonexistent throat and then began to sing:

"I have been here a thousand years,

As near countless students passed on through.

I sat upon their nervous ears

To sort them just like you.

"For when this school's first stone was set,

Its purpose, a young design,

The four founders chose the students they met,

Whom they deemed would most align.

"To what they thought a student ought be,

(And of course, there was dissension).

No way four dissimilar, though brilliant wizards could agree,

On what skills would breed retention.

"For Godric Gryffindor it was the brave of heart,

Who'd dare to seek and learn to win,

And for Salazar Slytherin, all in the art,

Of cunning and great ambition.

"For Rowena Ravenclaw, she valued one thing,

And that's knowing knowledge is the key,

And for Helga Hufflepuff, her one teaching

Was work hard and have loyalty.

"You see I once belonged to Gryffindor,

I lived upon his head,

But the four founders wanted sorting more,

Even once they were long dead.

"So here I am to sort you now,

Step up and let me have a rouse,

Inside your mind, just don't ask how,

Then I'll announce your House."

The Great Hall exploded in applause, some of the Gryffindors (specifically, Jacob Black and his friends) whistled and shouted "Well Done, Hat!" much to Headmaster Chaferson's obvious amusement. It was the opinion of many students that the venerable headmaster had been a Gryffindor himself back when he attended school, though no one seemed entirely certain when that might have been—at least a century ago was the general consensus.

Professor Cope unrolled a length of parchment and faced the first years. Her curly gray hair hung loosely beneath the formal hat she wore and her rosy cheeks were stiff and serious, "Listen closely now," she began eyeing each of the first years in turn, "When I call your name, you will walk to the front of the line and place the Sorting Hat upon your head. Once the Hat has made its decision, you will then proceed to an open spot at the table of your sorting. As you can see Slytherin is on the left in the green and silver, next Ravenclaw blue and bronze, then Gryffindor burgundy and gold, and finally Hufflepuff gold and black furthest to the right."

"Now then, we will begin with Saige Abaris."

"Ravenclaw," muttered Alice before the small, yellow haired girl could be sorted.

And just as Alice predicted the first girl placed the hat upon her head so that it covered her eyes, was promptly declared a Ravenclaw, and then crossed the Great Hall and sat down, seemingly embarrassed by the applause of her new Housemates.

Edward had to shush her so Alice would not continue to give away the rest of the sorting. Her guesses were always uncannily accurate.

A few names passed and Edward observed them with the typical level of mild interest the rest of the school reserved for individual first year sortees. And then the only member of the newest set of first years whom he actually knew was called.

"Renesmee Dwyer."

"That's Bella Swan's sister," Edward told Alice in whisper, inclining his head toward the girl with the auburn ringlets in her hair. She had looked very much like a young version of Bella, Edward noticed earlier, though her hair shade was a bit redder than Bella's and her eyes were blue instead of brown. "Bella Swan's eyes are a very rich sort of brown though, aren't they Alice?" he commented, as though Alice had been involved in this realization in some way, "They're not plain at all, are they?"

Edward was not usually one to share this sort of observation either, but he knew Alice wouldn't judge him for it. She was a bit unusual in that way, but of course that was one of the reasons he liked her. "She gets them from her father," replied Alice and Edward found himself taken aback to discover that Alice had ever met Bella's father.

"Huh," said Edward.

"The Hat's taking a while on this one," said Alice.

"Where do you suppose she'll wind up?" said Edward.

Alice grinned. "Do you want me to tell you now, or do you want to just wait and see like everybody else?"

Edward frowned, "It won't be Gryffindor, will it? The Hat likely would've shuffled her off there by now to be with her sister if it was going off any sort of family trend. Maybe she'll be in Ravenclaw with us," predicted Edward, "We could look out for her for Bella—help Renesmee to acclimate and get on with her classes. I'm sure Bella would appreciate it."

"She would, assuming Renesmee was sorted here in the first place."

Edward considered. "Hufflepuff then, she seemed loyal enough during the short time I met her on the train."

"Charlie Swan was a Hufflepuff," commented Alice.

Edward was just about to press Alice on the matter of when exactly she'd had the occasion to meet the esteemed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And furthermore when had she interrogated him about which House he'd been assigned at Hogwarts? But before he could ask, the Hat announced its decision. Renesmee was beaming with joy when the Hat proclaimed across the hall, "SLYTHERIN!"

She all but danced over to the Slytherin table where she walked right up to a rather stupefied Rosalie Hale. It was a comical sight watching the Slytherin prefect come to her senses and then promptly shove a sixth year boy off the seat next to her so little Renesmee could sit down. There were a great many expressions of shock to be witnessed throughout the four Houses in response to the unexpected interaction at the Slytherin table. But it was the expression on Bella Swan's face that Edward was anxious to see.

He scanned the Gryffindor table and found her seated next to Jessica Stanley and Lauren Mallory, two girls in her year. While Jessica and Lauren were among the shocked, Bella's expression was of course shock as well, but it was somewhat mixed with what could only be described as gratefulness. She gave a weak smile in Rosalie's direction and Rose countered with a slight nod of the head. "That makes two agreeable interactions in one day,_" _commented Edward, pleased, "Renesmee must be having an extremely positive effect on Rose's social tendencies._" _

"Then her placement must be a good thing after all, mustn't it," said Alice.

The sorting continued from there with less interest for Edward. When Claire Young was finally sorted into Gryffindor, he was rather keen to tuck into his dinner. Fortunately the headmaster seemed to know very well that the students would not appreciate a rehashing of the school rules just then.

"Now that the Sorting has completed," began Chaferson, "I will not keep you any longer from enjoying the delicious feast which the Hogwarts elves have prepared for us all." There was some light scattered applause in response to this and Chaferson absorbed it with a gracious nod of the head, "I merely ask that you refrain from any activities which you may even suspect to be against the school rules until the feast has completed—we will discuss those rules in detail at that time. Enjoy!" He clapped his hands twice and suddenly the four long House tables were covered with trays of steaming food. Edward was quick to help himself and fill his plate.

This, of course, would be his last Start of Term Feast at Hogwarts—the first in a long tradition of lasts for the year. He mused on these while he enjoyed the baked potatoes and roast beef—almost as good as Esme's. He'd watch his last school quidditch match this year, secretly rooting for Slytherin since Rose was the captain. He'd have his last Hogsmeade weekend, during which he and Alice and maybe even Rose would enjoy butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks and buy sweets from Honeyduke's. He'd visit the immense school library for the last time, guess the riddle to enter Ravenclaw Tower for the last time, take a swim in the Prefect's Bath for the last time…

"You're awfully quiet today Edward," commented Alice, "What are you thinking?"

"Thinking about what you said earlier on the train," he replied, "About making this year a good one, you know, adventures, friends, maybe even well, something more than friends…" he glanced over at the Gryffindor table.

Alice grinned but thankfully knew better than to say anything in regards to Edward's wandering gaze. Generally speaking, he did not handle embarrassment well.

When the feast was complete, Chaferson stood and waved his hand causing the lights in the hall to dim. "Now that we have all been sufficiently fed and watered—or at least, I hope we have by now," he chuckled, "It is time for some start of term announcements.

"Firstly I should like to remind you that there is to be no magic in the corridors unless you are in the company of a professor. Using magic on another student without his or her permission (and sometimes even with his or her permission) is prohibited and will result in detention, suspension, or even expulsion depending on the severity of the offense.

"Our caretaker Janine Norris has asked me to make it known that you ought to be careful not to make a mess in the corridors—use cleaning spells on yourself if you happen to be covered in mud and employ proper hygiene whenever possible," He turned toward the entrance of the hall where an old, black-haired woman stood glaring at them all with catlike eyes. Chaferson winked at her before continuing, "Furthermore Mrs. Norris reminds you that all products from Weasleys Wizard Wheezes are banned. If you don't know what those are, they happen to be a hilarious line of joke products which can be purchased at Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, or from their newest location in Camelot, all for reasonable prices."

Mrs. Norris glared and swiped her cloak as she stormed out of the room in a silent huff.

"Now that's out of the way, I must discuss with you all a couple of changes for this upcoming year. First off, our Ancient Runes professor will be spending the year in South America on sabbatical. Madam Zafrina regrets that she cannot be here to teach you this year but she has agreed to maintain a correspondence course for our OWL and NEWT students if anybody is interested. You will need to see Professor Cope to sign up.

"Additionally, those of you who were already registered for Ancient Runes will need to speak to Professor Cope about choosing a replacement course. Your options, for those of you who do not recall, would be Muggle Studies, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, Divination, Astronomy, or Introductory Healing."

"Oh," smiled Alice, "If you'd like to sign up for Divination, Edward, I would be more than happy to help you get caught up."

"Thanks Alice," said Edward half-heartedly. He had no intention of wasting his seventh year at Hogwarts on a class like that. It was a shame about Ancient Runes, he thought, Madam Zafrina was an extremely interesting professor.

"Or perhaps you can ask Bella to help you with Care of Magical Creatures. I've heard she's quite skilled at it."

"Alice," warned Edward sensing she was very close to teasing him.

"Only a suggestion."

Chaferson continued. "The next change on the agenda for the year will, I think, affect you all a great deal, though I hope you will maintain open minds."

The students all looked at each other and then back to the headmaster, not sure how to interpret that statement.

"You see, the intra-school Quidditch tournament," he began, "Will have to be cancelled I'm afraid."

"What?" exclaimed Rosalie quite loudly from the Slytherin table. She wasn't the only one. Cries of outrage and displeasure were heard throughout the Great Hall.

"You can't do this!" exclaimed Jacob Black from amongst the fifth years at the Gryffindor table.

"Well now, you've not even heard the alternative," said Chaferson genially, "I take it you'd like me to floo-call the headmasters at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang and simply cancel the Triwizard Tournament, then?"

The Great Hall was immediately silent. And then whispers broke out among the students, "Did he just say the Triwizard Tournament?"

"As in _THE_ Triwizard Tournament?"

"Erm, what's the Triwizard Tournament?" asked Edward.

Alice smiled, "It's a highly dangerous tournament that pits champions from each of the three schools against one another in a series of three magically challenging and perilous tasks."

Around them, those who grew up in the wizarding world all seemed to know exactly what it was and suddenly they did not seem so upset about missing the quidditch games this year after all. "How do you know about it?" asked Edward.

"Back issues of the Quibbler," Alice replied, "Harry Potter was the winner of the last Triwizard Tournament, more than two hundred years ago."

"Really?" breathed Edward, intrigued, "Why haven't they had a tournament since then?"

"The mortality rate."

"How do you mean?"

"Five hundred years ago, back when Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were becoming the premier schools for magic in Europe and Hogwarts already was in Britain, the three schools developed this tournament. Every seven years the location of the tournament would alternate and the winner would gain undying glory for themselves and for the school they represented."

Edward noticed several of the Ravenclaws around them were leaning in to hear Alice explain. The other seventh year prefect, Carmen Ricardo was among them and she was the one to say, "And then after a couple of champions wound up dying, they stopped it."

"Right," said Alice, "It was dissolved because the headmasters at the time decided the chance at seven years of glory for their school might not be worth it after all."

"But then why would they reinstate it?" asked Edward.

"Mr. Wilmore told me this part. When Harry Potter was in school, the British Ministry of Magic wanted the chance to prove that Britain was still magically strong, recovering just fine from the reign of Lord Voldemort and ready to step out onto the magical world stage again, if you know what I mean. They hosted the Quidditch World Cup that year too."

"So then, why just the one?" asked Edward, "Hasn't anybody wanted to host it since then?"

Carmen answered this time, "Because last time yet another student died. I think his name was actually Edwards," she mused, "Diggory Edwards or something along those lines, I forget."

"It was Cedric," corrected Alice, "Cedric Diggory. You see there were actually two champions from Hogwarts that year and…" Alice trailed off because Chaferson had quieted the Great Hall so he could speak again.

"Now for those of you who've still not quite sorted out what the Triwizard Tournament is exactly, permit me to explain," he said with a broad smile. "Throughout this school year, there will be three challenges taking place which all but one of you will have the pleasure of watching. One of you, however, will be our school's champion.

"The champion will be chosen by an impartial magical artefact known simply as the Goblet of Fire. He or she will then represent Hogwarts in the challenges and strive to defeat the champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. The winner, apart from earning eternal glory and fame—and the chance for at the very least an interview for nearly any career of your choosing—will also gain 3,000 galleons in prize money."

Every student in the Great Hall sat entranced—likely imagining themselves the winner of the tournament, basking in the glow of fame and hard-earned riches. Edward couldn't help but think of all the champions who'd died.

"There is one caveat, however," said Chaferson, "And that is, the only students who will be eligible to compete in the tournament will be those 17 years of age and over. The tasks are all extremely dangerous. We have taken extraordinary measures to ensure none of the contestants die this time around, but nonetheless, this is magic we're talking about and there is always the distinct possibility something unexpected will occur."

The students remained silent. A couple younger students looked distraught about the age limits, but those were all clustered in the Gryffindor area of the room. Most looked decidedly relieved.

Edward glanced up at the staff table where several of the professors appeared rather distraught about the whole thing as well, but their reasons were very different from those of the Gryffindors. Professor Cope, for instance, was frowning in a way that conveyed she was quite worried and would likely continue to be so until this entire business was behind them. Madam Hammond, the Hospital Wing's matron looked as though she'd just swallowed an unfortunately flavored option from Bertie Bott's. So perhaps he, Edward, was not the only one who thought this sounded like a dreadful idea…

"As for quidditch," continued Chaferson after a moment's pause, "Though the intra-school tournament has been cancelled, we will not suffer a complete lack of the sport. With the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang visiting with us for the year, it was decided that we would host a sort of round-robin Quidditch tournament among the three schools. Each team will play each other twice and at the end of the year, the day before the final task, the two teams with the most points will compete against each other for the newly coined Tri-School Quidditch Cup."

The entranced silence resulting from the mixed reception of the Triwizard Tournament was instantly destroyed. Applause and cheers of approval erupted from all four of the House tables, and even from the staff as well—all except for Madam Hammond anyway.

"I reckon that was Chaferson's idea," said a sandy-haired fifth year named Riley Biers. Edward recognized him as the Keeper for the Ravenclaw House team, an excitable and charismatic sort compared to most Ravenclaws. "Everyone knows the Headmaster loves quidditch. He hasn't missed a game in the last four years, probably more. This will be great!"

Carmen, who on top of her prefect duties, also played Seeker for Ravenclaw nodded eagerly. "I knew he'd pull through for us. Headmaster Chaferson is one of the greatest wizards to have ever lived."

The girl sounded much too ardent in this belief, in Edward's opinion. But perhaps he'd simply spent too much time around Rosalie who was just as ardent in her dislike of the headmaster.

Carmen's quidditch teammates all seemed to agree with her, anyway.

"Now before we finish up for the evening," said Chaferson, "I must tell you the foreign delegations will be arriving at Hogwarts on October the 30th after classes are finished. Tryouts for the Hogwarts Quidditch team will be held during the first week of October so speak to Coach Clapp before that point if you are interested.

"And finally, the evening of October 30th and during the following day will be your opportunity, should you be seventeen or older, to submit your name to represent the school. I must warn you though, do not do so lightly. Submitting your name into the Goblet of Fire represents a binding magical contract and as I have mentioned already, the tasks may prove quite hazardous to your health if you face them unprepared.

"Sleep well. Tomorrow begins a new term. Let us all start out on the right foot. Off you trot."

Once again the Headmaster disappeared in a flash of purple smoke and the Great Hall began to empty. "First Years, this way!" exclaimed Edward over the noise, "Ravenclaw first years, follow me!"

He counted out fourteen small heads and then led the way up to Ravenclaw Tower with little need to speak along the way. Alice had taken up the task of tour guide and was happily explaining to the new first years everything they passed.

"Our Head of House, Professor Greene teaches Herbology, that's held out on the grounds of the school, or course. And this will be your Charms classroom," she told them bubbly, "That's Professor Cope's domain, so remember not to be late, the Hufflepuff Head of House is very intolerant of tardiness. She does, however, appreciate hard work, so be sure to apply yourself and complete your homework."

They continued on with the tour, taking the long way up to the tower so that the upper-years wouldn't have to wait for them to learn to enter the common room.

"And this is Mrs. Norris' office. Now she's one you really ought to try not to anger. She takes her position at the school quite seriously and she will not punish you lightly if she senses you have transgressed. Oh and Milan?"

A black-haired boy near the back of the line looked up at Alice curiously.

"Try to remember not to mention your dislike of cats in front of her. She's sensitive."

The boy shrugged.

"Oh and this is the resident poltergeist, Mr. Peeves. He's not your typical ghost. He's a sort of spirit born of all the mischief and mayhem that Hogwarts students have thought up over the school's thousand years of existence. He prides himself on being a trouble-maker."

The brightly-clad little spirit blew a raspberry at them. "Ickle firsties taking a trot about the castle? Peevsie ought to give them a proper welcome, oughtn't he? Was saving these for Mrs. Norris, I was, but a few missing wouldn't hurt, would it? Plenty more wheezes where this one's from."

And then from his deep yellow pockets he withdrew about a hundred colorful dots. They grew instantly in his hands into a hundred colorful rats that streamed onto the corridor floor and charged Edward, Alice and the first years, squeaking insults.

The first years screamed and tried to dodge out of the way.

"_Arresto Momentum!"_ exclaimed Edward, brandishing his wand at the plague. Each of the little rodents came to a sudden halt, some frozen in midair, not even a rainbow whisker left twitching.

Alice too had her wand out and aimed, "_Langlock! Expluso!"_ she cried at Peeves. The poltergeist's mouth snapped shut and then he was thrown heavily from the corridor and down to the floor below them, glaring all the while.

Edward quickly vanished the mice and turned to the first years, "Sorry about that, you lot. He can be something of a nuisance."

The first years were all watching Alice very closely. "Wicked," muttered the boy called Milan.

"Will we learn to do that too?" asked Saige Abaris.

"Perhaps if I teach you," replied Alice.

The first years all looked suitably impressed. Edward decided that should be their final adventure of the evening and he made a more direct path toward Ravenclaw Tower, muttering to Alice along the way.

"Where did you learn those spells? I thought Peeves frightened you."

"Mr. Wilmore says there are far greater things to fear than the likes of poltergeists. Peeves is merely a mischief making spirit, like I was telling the first years—that's hardly anything compared to Dark Magic."

"But those spells…" pressed Edward.

"Just some basic defense," she explained.

"And let me guess, Mr. Wilmore showed you?"

"He did as a matter of fact."

Edward found that answer highly dissatisfying. He knew very little about this Wilmore fellow, but it seemed highly peculiar that a magazine editor should take such unusual interest in a muggleborn like Alice. He was frankly a bit worried for the girl. Sometimes she just didn't seem fully aware of her surroundings, mind wandering to places Edward could hardly even fathom. What if someone was trying to take advantage of her in some… _untoward_ way? After all, if it could happen to Rosalie… granted that was fourth year, but still.

"I'd like to meet this Mr. Wilmore some time," said Edward as neutrally as he could manage.

"Oh I'm sure he would be delighted to meet you as well."

They stopped outside the Ravenclaw Common Room and the door knocker came to life with a riddle. "What is worth its weight in gold, though it has no weight if truth be told? Hidden in your mind and head, gained at school through what you've read."

The first years all looked highly puzzled.

Edward sighed. "Come on think it through. What's the first clue?"

"Um, it's worth its weight in gold," piped up one freckly faced first year, with bushy red eyebrows raised up to his forehead in question.

"Alright, so that means something valuable, right? But it has no physical weight. What's that mean?"

"It's an idea," said Saige Abaris, "Not a thing."

"Good. What's next?"

"Oh, for goodness sake. The answer's knowledge!" scoffed a voice from the other side of the corridor. "Honestly, you call yourselves Ravenclaws."

The door appeared and the first years looked at Edward and Alice uncertainly, then to the newcomer. Edward exhaled and motioned them into the Common Room, passing the lot off to one of the fifth year prefects so she could finish explaining to them about Ravenclaw Tower.

"What do you want, Rose?" said Edward tiredly, massaging his forehead.

"I want you to come with me to speak with Headmaster Chaferson," she replied, walking towards him from where she'd been waiting by the staircase, "Tonight. It's important."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? Honestly, as if you don't know."

When Edward didn't answer, she exhaled and shook her head. "There is a rather urgent matter he needs to attend to, don't you agree? He's the headmaster and therefore the only one who can fix it. It may be a bit unorthodox, but the sooner it's done, the better."

"Rose, he's not going to make you Head Girl," said Edward, "He's already made his decision, and really, is Bella all that bad?"

She seethed. "That's _not_ what I meant, Edward."

"Well…"

"The Sorting Hat clearly made a mistake and we need to speak with him as soon as possible about fixing it."

He thought he understood now, at least mostly anyway. "This is about Renesmee? I thought you, well… I thought you _liked_ her," said Edward, "In so far as you are actually capable of liking someone, I mean."

"Oh please Cullen, this isn't about whether or not I like her. This is about what's best for her and that's not Slytherin. You know for a Ravenclaw, you really are thick. Or maybe you're all like that, all book sense and not a whit of the more common variety."

"It looked like she wanted to go to Slytherin," piped up Alice who was balanced on her toes and looking quite unbothered by Rosalie's tone, "I don't imagine I'd like people conspiring to switch my House if I'd chosen Slytherin."

"Regardless, Slytherin is… Well it can be difficult," concluded Rose, brushing several strands of golden blonde hair behind her shoulder. Clearly she did not like speaking ill of her own House. "We're all rather ambitious. And I suppose you might call it self-serving…"

Edward snorted. "That's an understatement."

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes, well we can't all be perfect little Gryffindors."

"What's your point, Rose?"

"My point is… is…" she looked pained, "Is much as I, as you so eloquently put it, _like_ little Renesmee, I don't want any harm to come to her. Her father's a muggle, Edward. What kind of Slytherin has a muggle father?"

Edward crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Are you forgetting that both Alice and I are muggleborns, Rose? You don't seem to have a problem associating with us."

"Yes, well I'm a Hale," she said, as though that somehow settled things. Perhaps in Slytherin it did.

"Then use the fact that you're a Hale to keep her safe," snapped Edward.

"I intend to!" she exclaimed, "But I can't be there for her all the time. And what about next year? When I'm not around anymore, what will become of her then? She's so… so…"

"Innocent?" supplied Edward.

Rose sighed. "Yes exactly. And to a degree the other Slytherin first years are as well, only she's _more_ innocent than the rest. I don't want her to become… like the rest of us. She's too good."

They both fell silent after that. Alice had begun to hum a tune Edward recognized from a muggle album and Rose looked uncommonly grave. It was unlike her to expel so much concern and effort onto someone who was not a member of her family, or on the rare occasion Alice or Edward.

"I doubt anything will come of this," said Edward at last, resigned to at least accompanying her in making an attempt.

"The worst he'll say is no," said Alice, wisely, "Though that may be for the best, you know."

Rose ignored her. "Putting her in Gryffindor is for the best. He'll have to see it's in Renesmee's best interest to place her there with Swan. They'll love her. It'll put her on the path to Head Girl, I'd wager. Especially if Chaferson is still around choosing his Gryffindors for the job when she reaches seventh year."

"Well then lead the way," said Edward, more than partially convinced this would prove to be a waste of his time.

Rose nodded once and made a swift turn on her heal.

"Wait, don't you want to know the password?" said Alice, "I don't know how you intend to reach Headmaster Chaferson's office without it. Did you plan to break through a window?"

"You know the headmaster's password to get into his office?" asked Edward, "What'd Mr. Wilmore tell you that too?"

"Well actually it was Mr. Livingstone who told me. He works at Flourish & Blotts in Diagon Alley."

"Yes I know him," said Edward, exasperated, "But how does _he_—?"

"Nevermind that now," snapped Rosalie, "What's the password, Alice?"

"Expelliarmus," she said.

"Unbelievable," muttered Edward, following along as Rosalie marched them across the complex passages of the seventh floor toward the headmaster's office, "She gets herself a summer job and suddenly she's a whole new person. She knows all about the Triwizard tournament, how to handle Peeves the poltergeist, and now how to get into the headmaster's office? There's something unusual going on in my opinion."

"Alice has always known more than she should about _any_ given situation," said Rose, "This is hardly any different. Try not to let your petty Ravenclaw jealousies show, Cullen. It's unbecoming."

"I'm not jealous!" said Edward at once, "I'm concerned is all. You know how she is… remember when the other Ravenclaws used to pick on her? Even Ricardo wasn't very nice to her, and tonight at dinner she was actually listening to Alice, pressing her for information about the Triwizard Tournament as if she's finally realized that Alice actually has worthwhile things to say. It's strange is all."

Rosalie stopped short before the stone gargoyle that guarded the passage to the headmaster's chambers. She gave Edward one searching look and then huffed, "Oh, this is even worse," she said, "Jealousy I can almost understand. But this? No, Edward you are the most Gryffindorish Ravenclaw I have ever known, do you realize that?"

"What? I don't even know what that means," said Edward. He recognized it was meant to be insulting, but beyond that…

"Only that you have this _thing_," she replied, arms spread wide in irritation, "A… a saving people thing. You just have to be the knight in shining armor. Back in fourth year…" she trailed off uncomfortably, "And with Alice, always looking out for her, keeping the big bad Ravenclaws and Slytherins away from poor, helpless, damsel in distress Alice. But now she suddenly doesn't need you so much anymore, does she? And you don't know what to do about it."

"I'm not a Gryffindor," said Edward, indignantly. "Expelliarmus." The stone gargoyle leaped to the side to reveal a winding spiral stair case.

At the top they stood before a tall oaken door with a brass, griffin head knocker. But the door wasn't closed. It was cracked enough to allow a sliver of light through, and of course voices too. From the sound of things, he and Rosalie were not the only ones there to speak to the headmaster on Renesmee's behalf that evening.

"But there must be something you can do, Professor," came a very familiar voice, sounding troubled and unhappy for yet the second time that day, "She doesn't belong there. She'll be eaten alive!"

Edward, uncomfortably, ruffled a hand through his hair and then made to push open the door. Rosalie snatched his arm right out of the air and thrust it back down by his side. She looked livid but made no move to enter the office.

More uncomfortable than ever, Edward waited and eavesdropped. There was no way he was a Gryffindor. Gryffindors never eavesdropped, he was sure of it.

"I am sure Renesmee will handle herself admirably. Perhaps you should have more faith, Miss Swan?" replied Chaferson.

"But don't you see? She's not like them!" exclaimed Bella, "And Phil's a muggle. What kind of Slytherin has a muggle for a father? She'll be ostracized at best, and terrorized at worse. Who knows what kind of effect that will have on her? She's so young, you can't leave her there with them."

No matter that Rosalie had said much the same thing not fifteen minutes ago, the look on her face was one Edward imagined a gorgon would have just before turning her victims to stone. After all, it was fine—well, mostly fine, anyway—if _she_ badmouthed Slytherin House. But when somebody else tried it?

"I'll hear no more of that, Miss Swan," said Chaferson gravely, "Being sorted into Slytherin does not make someone inherently bad any more than being sorted to Gryffindor makes someone good. The same goes for Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff for that matter, and any other House we so happen to have here at Hogwarts. Why if we suddenly created a House called Dumbledore, I should not expect it to be filled with students whose only defining quality is their ability to create ruthlessly cunning plans for the sake of making the world a better place."

Edward blinked in confusion.

Chaferson went on, "Now I imagine young Miss Dwyer is in fact the exact same witch she was this morning upon boarding the Hogwarts Express. I daresay she will still be the same witch in seven years when she leaves Hogwarts behind, though older and wiser perhaps. You should support her in her choices, Miss Swan, even if you do not always agree."

"But Renesmee didn't choose to be in Slytherin," protested Bella, "It was the Hat that put her there. She'd have chosen Gryffindor, Professor Chaferson, I'm sure of it."

Rosalie apparently decided she'd had quite enough. She threw open the door of Chaferson's office and stormed in. "I'll have you know, Swan," spat Rosalie, "Renesmee did choose Slytherin and she's _quite_ happy to be there."

After the moment of shock at seeing Rose and Edward there with her in Chaferson's office had passed, Bella immediately deflated, looking highly embarrassed. Chaferson, Edward noted, did not appear surprised to see them at all on the other hand.

"Ah Miss Hale and Mr. Cullen," he said, "What brings you in this evening?"

Edward opened his mouth to tell him he and Rose were there about Renesmee's placement as well, but Rosalie silenced him with a look.

"We are here," said Rosalie, standing up straight, "To contest your ridiculous to the point of idiocy choices regarding Head Boy and Head Girl."

"Oh we are, are we," muttered Edward, barely restraining himself from rolling his eyes.

"I see," said Chaferson with something in his dark eyes which Edward thought very much resembled amusement, "You come bearing an alternate suggestion, I presume?"

"As a matter of fact we do. Edward for Head Boy and me for Head Girl."

"Naturally. Well perhaps we ought to wait until the current Head Girl isn't around—assuming, of course, she doesn't decide she'd prefer to wait outside the door and eavesdrop—before we begin defaming her character."

Edward felt rather flushed and looked down, not meeting the headmaster's gaze.

Bella sighed. "There's nothing you can do, Professor?" she asked, sounding resigned.

"There's nothing I will do, Miss Swan. And I doubt very much Renesmee would appreciate us meddling in her affairs."

"Fine," said Bella. She started for the door, but stopped in front of Rosalie. "Look Hale," she began, sounding entirely too world-weary for a seventeen-year-old, "I know you don't like me very much—."

"Oh cottoned on, have you?"

Bella pretended she hadn't spoken, "But just… look after her, will you?"

"And exactly why should I?" said Rose, without a moment's hesitation. Edward decided he would never understand Slytherins, "I don't owe you anything."

"No. But I would owe you."

Rosalie considered. She crossed her arms before her chest in a way that rather showcased the Slytherin crest on her robes and looking very superior, conceded, "Fine."

Bella exhaled in relief. "Thank you," she said fervently. She left the office then and allowed the door to close fully behind her.

When it was just Edward, Rosalie, and Headmaster Chaferson left, Rosalie finally relaxed her position. She flounced her way across the room and into one of the chairs opposite the headmaster's large, ornately carved desk. "Bloody Gryffindors," she cursed.

A painting on the wall behind Chaferson made a noise of agreement.

The headmaster waited until Edward had placed himself in the final remaining seat and then offered them sweets. Edward had only been in the headmaster's office once before, but it was just as he remembered. The curved walls of the room were lined with shelves full of unrecognizable trinkets and portraits of headmasters past. The sweets in question were Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans. And since Edward was well aware that they did indeed mean _every_ flavor, he declined.

Edward had once heard that the headmaster was quite adept at picking out the normally flavored beans and left only the most disgusting options in the stash he offered students.

"Now about this Head Girl and Head Boy business," said Chaferson, "And my decisions which I believe you deemed, ridiculous to the point of idiocy, was it?"

Rose examined her nails, refusing to be embarrassed, "Yes, I'd say that about covers it."

Fortunately for her, Edward was quite embarrassed enough for the both of them.

"Well, worthy as your alternatives may be," he began and he looked very closely at first Rosalie and then Edward as he said this, "And much as I appreciate your dedication to making the school a better place through your leadership, I'm afraid my decision is final."

Rosalie dropped her hand into her lap and glared, "It's your loss, Headmaster," she said and then she stood, apparently ready to leave now it was quite clear none of her objectives were about to be met.

Chaferson halted her though, "I do actually have a rather different sort of leadership role that needs filling, Miss Hale," he said, "One which I had fully intended to bestow upon you at some point this week, though it appears the opportunity has presented itself earlier than I had anticipated."

Rose paused, interested.

"You see I should very much like for the first ever Tri-School Quidditch Cup to be displayed in _my_ office for the next seven years. I've even cleared a spot for it." He motioned towards the other side of the room and Rose and Edward turned to see that, just as he'd said, there was a gaping space upon one of the shelves of trinkets—a space that would quite comfortably accommodate a large quidditch trophy.

"But any champion quidditch team would, of course, need a champion leader, wouldn't you agree? Someone whose time was not consumed by Head Girl duties, who could devote her evenings to practicing and strategizing in a manner I imagine only a Slytherin could reasonably hope to achieve."

He tossed a small badge across the room, the sort meant for the thick protective material that made up quidditch robes. Rosalie snagged it from the air.

"What do you say, Captain?"

"I'll get you the bloody trophy," vowed Rosalie and then she stormed out of the office and back down the spiral staircase. Edward was quick on her heels after a hasty, "G'night Professor," directed at Chaferson.

Just outside the stone gargoyle, Rose turned to Edward. "Whoever said Chaferson was a Gryffindor back when he was a student is a bloody idiot."

"Erm…" Edward thought he recalled Rosalie herself saying Chaferson must have been a Gryffindor, several times in fact.

"That is the most Slytherin man I have ever had the misfortune of knowing."

Edward stared after her as she trounced away in the direction of the nearest staircase, headed for the dungeons. It seemed, in a year full of lasts, Edward was experiencing a first—and an unexpected one at that.

He'd _never_ heard Rosalie compliment the headmaster before.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and scenarios (and some that are not so recognizable too) are the intellectual property rights of J. K. Rowling and S. Meyer. I own nothing. However, based on the amount of time I waste on these things, you might think I _deserve_ to own something. I'll take Hermione... or... or... Dumbledore. Get back to me on that JKR, please?


	4. Chapter 4: The Charmed Galleon

Chapter 4: The Charmed Galleon

If forced to comment on the matter, Edward imagined all of his professors would describe him as quietly studious. And serious of course. They'd likely say he was quite serious as well.

They would be right too. Edward was the very epitome of those things.

If Edward's classmates were polled on the matter however, the response would likely be less than unanimous. Not because they found him loud or careless with regard to his schoolwork, the likelihood of anyone having that opinion was extraordinarily small. It was instead because many of them, even after seven years housed in the same castle, simply had no idea who he was—arguably one of the drawbacks of being quietly studious.

Unfortunately Edward was discovering another drawback. Quiet studiousness, as a virtue, was entirely unhelpful in his new Care of Magical Creatures class.

The mostly Gryffindor class had gathered at a small outpost on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The outpost was called Hagrid's Hut and it was surrounded by overflowing burlap sacks full of feed and empty pens meant, Edward presumed, for the creatures they were to study. Professor Berty, the rather short-statured man who would be teaching the class, had perched himself on the stone steps leading up to the outpost. His greeting and subsequent questions were met with chaos.

"Hellooo there class, welcome to Seventh Year NEWT Care of Magical Creatures! How were your holidays?"

He reached into the folds of his brown, leathery looking cloak and removed a spare parchment and quill while the unruly group shouted:

"Professor Berty, I met an anubis inside a tomb in Egypt!"

"Professor, my family went to France to visit my aunt. She has kneazles."

"I went to a quidditch game in Tokyo!"

"I visited Camelot!"

"I stayed in London."

"I saw my girlfriend. She's in a band."

Professor Berty smiled at the varied responses. "Well, it sounds as though you all had great success, didn't you? Now, we need to decide what we'll be learning about this year." He indicated the parchment and quill which he had charmed to float in the air beside him. "Suggestions?"

"Cockatrices!"

"Unicorns!"

"Brazilian Selenopies!"

"Welch Greens!"

"I always wanted to meet a sphinx!"

"Right, right, right, yes… yes, got it, what else?" Edward watched, dumbstruck as the quill recorded all of these wild and admittedly terrifying ideas. According to his discussion with Professor Cope, Berty tended to bring live samples of the species they were studying to class. And the enclosed pens were certainly evidence of that. But sphinxes were classified as highly dangerous creatures, surely he wouldn't bring one of those… and Welch Greens? A breed of dragon? They couldn't be serious.

Briefly he wondered if it might not be too late to sign up for Divination after all.

Edward approached the nearest group, two Hufflepuff boys, one of whom he recognized as Benjamin Summons, a tall, medium-set boy with strawberry blonde hair and pale, freckled skin. Now Edward did not usually make it a policy to talk while the professor was lecturing, but Berty didn't seem to mind all that much and Edward really needed to know what sort of danger he'd signed up for.

"Er, hey Summons? Are they… will he… that is—er—is there any chance Berty might subject us to a live dragon?"

Benjamin's friend, Scamander, Edward thought his name was, answered for him, voice just as enthusiastic as the Gryffindors. "Two years ago Berty took the NEWT class on portkey to a dragon preserve. They got to see an egg hatch. My older brother Darwin was in the class, the head dragon keeper gave him a miniature Chinese fireball for answering the most questions correctly."

That didn't sound so bad, Edward supposed.

"Well that and when the baby dragon hatched he blew fire breath straight on Darwin's head. His hair burned off and his head was nothing more than a giant blister for near two days while Madam Hammond's burn paste took."

Benjamin doubled over in laughter, "I remember that!" he choked out between guffaws, "That Gryffindor in our year, Mallory, was supposed to go to Hogsmeade with him that weekend, but she backed out after seeing him."

Edward felt stricken. He remembered that incident very well now they mentioned it. He'd seen Darwin Scamander's head poke out the top of the prefect's bath fifth year and very nearly been sick at the awful sight of it.

When class was finished, he waited around, risked being tardy for his next class, Transfiguration with Professor Varner while he tried to get a word in with Professor Berty about his placement in Care of Magical Creatures—and his upcoming removal from the class if he could manage it. Berty's students all seemed a little overly attached though, in Edward's opinion. Several of them simply refused to leave—drilling the professor on his summer activities and asking about his new wife. Edward could not fathom why they all seemed to care so much. Berty was supposed to be their teacher, not their best friend.

Edward stood beyond the group, a souring expression on his face as he waited for them to clear out. Bella Swan swept past him without so much as a nod of acknowledgement, and Edward was too annoyed at his classmates taking so long with Berty to brood on whether or not she blamed him at all for Rosalie's offensive comments to the Headmaster on the night of the feast.

Finally Edward reached Berty and conveyed his worries about the class.

"It's not that I don't think it will be an interesting class," Edward told him, "I'm sure it's quite fascinating. Only I don't think I'll have room in my schedule after all."

Room for being mauled by Class XXX magical creatures is what he didn't have. He was more than content to leave that to the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, thank you very much.

"Nonsense, Mr. Cullen. I rarely assign homework. This class is highly practical in nature—hardly any need to study theory at all, unless you decide to pursue a career in the field."

"I actually really like theory," Edward said.

"Well you are more than welcome to study it then," replied Berty.

"And what about the portkey trips—I've prefect duties and several other NEWT classes, I don't think I have the time—."

"We're out and back within our scheduled class time. That's the beauty of portkeys, Mr. Cullen."

"I don't work well in group settings," said Edward, quickly changing tactics. "I prefer a quiet classroom, or a library, and a textbook in front of me—not all that, er, _loudness._"

"Now you're just making excuses Mr. Cullen. Give the class a try, why don't you. You may find you like the way we do things in Care of Magical Creatures. I've yet to hear a complaint, you know."

Edward huffed, sensing he'd lost something in the discussion. "Fine," he said grumpily, turning to walk back up to the castle for his next class, "I'll see you next Wednesday, Professor Berty."

"Until then, Mr. Cullen. Remember, keep an open mind!" Berty called after him.

Edward didn't answer. He had just seen something in his periphery. It was very fleeting, a flash of a darkly cloaked figure on the other side of Hagrid's Hut—the color hardly noticeable at all with the Forbidden Forest as a backdrop. But hadn't Bella Swan just gone that way?

Edward glanced back several times as he walked toward the castle. Why was this the second time he'd seen her associating with these sorts? And what was that he'd overheard her telling Newton and his friends? Something about dark wizards in Knocturn Alley? What was going on her lately? This wasn't like her at all, he didn't think.

Transfiguration, unfortunately, did not go much better for Edward than Care of Magical Creatures had. At the NEWT level, Transfiguration was considered one of the most—if not _the_ most challenging course Hogwarts had to offer. It was a combination of rigorous proofs and theory together with practical work that would leave any pre-OWL level student reeling. But that was all part of the appeal, thought Edward—or at least, he usually thought that. He rather regretted it then.

The class was quite small and comprised of only Ravenclaws, though it was not as small as the other NEWT level Transfiguration classes. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, in particular, were known to have no more than 5 or 6 students in each class.

They were expected to perform their spells silently, without resorting to the incantations as a crutch, and as Edward stared into his mirror, attempting to transfigure his facial features into those of a bald eagle, he grew more and more frustrated as the minutes passed though.

He'd done this before at least fifty times. He'd practiced transforming his head into any number of animals, all with great success. But for some reason, today things were not going well.

He pointed his wand at his face and concentrated on the image of a bald eagle—exactly what it looked like, what it would feel like, where it would live. He imagined the great bird of prey nesting at the top of a towering oak—an oak that happened to be the meeting place of two figures conversing below, one wearing a hood that obscured his face and the other wearing a Head Girl pin.

"Oh my," said Professor Varner, upon witnessing Edward's humiliation, "That… that should be fixed easily enough, I should think. No lasting damage, Mr. Cullen, not to worry."

Edward picked up a clump of hair from his desk and wondered if he could reattach it somehow… At least he'd gotten the bald part right anyway.

Carmen Ricardo, who was seated closest to Edward, turned to see what Varner was on about. Her eyes bulged and she clapped both hands over her mouth to keep from shouting in laughter.

"You don't look so great yourself, fish face," muttered Edward.

She didn't seem to hear him, too busy yanking the sleeve of the girl beside her so she could gawk at Edward as well. He cast a quick _scourgify_ to clean his work area and decided he would spend the remainder of the period attempting to regrow his hair.

Fortunately he achieved some measure of success before Varner dismissed them for lunch.

After lunch was Potions, and this class Edward shared with Rose. He set up his cauldron in the very front adjacent Rosalie and began gathering ingredients for a hallucinogenic potion called _Ergot's Fillip_.

It was about halfway through the class when Professor Molina approached Edward and Rosalie's table and asked, in a highly bewildered voice, "Mr. Cullen, don't you think you've done enough stirring?"

Edward blinked as though waking from a daze, saw his wand still mixing the potion, and rushed to remove it. It was too late though. He could tell as soon as he touched the wand—it did not feel right at all. He examined the dark wood and felt a horrible, horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. It was all course and eroded, the texture of barnacles on coral.

"Damn, Cullen, what the bloody hell was that?"

"Rose, please… not now," replied Edward, still too shocked to really respond.

What had he done? His wand, belonging to him ever since his first trip to Diagon Alley before first year, was… was… what was it? Ruined, he supposed.

His wand had chosen him and now it was gone, destroyed because of carelessness. But the thing was, Edward was _never_ careless.

"What's gotten into you?" asked Rose. She swiped her wand across their table so that each of their potions would be collected in a small vial for grading. Edward's was a sickly grey color like the water a painter had just used to clean his brushes, while Rose's was a pale lavender—exactly as it was supposed to be.

"I wish I knew," he said.

Rose surveyed him critically while she collected her belongings. "You seem… distracted," she concluded, allowing Edward to hold the door for her while they exited the class, "Like there's something on your mind," she finished as they began the long walk up to the library, "And by the way, what's with your eyebrows? Is that something new? Because you look ridiculous."

"What? What's wrong with them?" he asked, glancing around self-consciously while he reached up to feel them. They weren't there. Great.

He pointed his wand at his face unthinkingly and began to cast the spell to regrow them like he'd done with the rest of his hair earlier. Much to his chagrin, however, nothing happened.

"It really is broken," he said, looking at his wand. Of all the things… he shook his head wearily.

"Stop," commanded Rose. She rounded on him and cast the spell to put his eyebrows back to rights. She conjured a mirror and held it out to him for his perusal. Everything appeared to be in order…

"Er, thanks Rose."

"It's not like I was going to be seen walking around with an eyebrowless freak," she told him scathingly.

"Oh… right."

They ascended the main staircase in the Entrance Hall of the school and continued on towards the library. Finally Rose huffed. "Look, you should just tell me what's on your mind."

Edward thought the idea of talking to Rose about something as abstract as whatever thoughts were distracting him was highly suspicious. He was fairly certain she was uninterested in that sort of thing.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye and she scoffed, "It's clearly bothering you."

More suspicious still he did not answer until she stopped again, crossed her arms over her chest and said, "Look, it's apparently quite dangerous to be around you while you're distracted like this. Dangerous to wands, and dangerous to people's grades, particularly yours—not that I wouldn't mind the chance to beat you in a few subjects, mind."

Edward nodded, "Go on."

She rolled her eyes, "And it's too much work to find somebody else to hang around with. You don't talk too much or about annoying things like everybody else our age, and you are acceptably studious, just as I prefer to be. So whatever is on your mind, I think you need to say it so you can move on with your life and go back to being the boring old Edward who does not do stupid things like destroy his wand and remove his eyebrows. But you know, be quick about it before I decide you're not worth it after all."

Edward relaxed, relieved Rose was back to making sense. It would not do to have yet another thing on his mind. "It's about something I saw," he told her, "And something I heard, and something I read, actually too. And I'm still worried about Alice and this Mr. Wilmore fellow with the Quibbler. And on top of it all is the fact that Hogwarts is hosting the Tri-wizard Tournament again when there hasn't been one since Harry Potter was in school. And somehow I think it's all related but I'm not sure yet."

Rosalie leaned back against a tapestry and hung her rucksack on a nearby suit of armor. "It couldn't be anything simple, could it," she said grouchily, apparently preparing herself for a long discussion on _The Way Things Are, According to Edward Cullen_.

"No, I suppose not. But here's the thing, when I was at Flourish and Blotts over the summer, a man who works there, his name is Brian Livingstone, sold me a book about the last real wizarding war—you've noticed we've not had one in two hundred years, right? No dark lords taking power, no megalomaniacs attempting coups since Voldemort. But that's all a bit strange for wizards, isn't it? It's very like us to be consumed by our power, isn't it?"

"And your point is?"

"Well I… I heard someone talking about a lot of activity on the Low Coast and in Knocturn Alley—notoriously dark places in the wizarding world, right? And that same person met with a man wearing a hood on the train platform, I didn't see his face, but it was fishy I'd say… and then again today, someone wearing a hood near the Forbidden Forest. And with the Triwizard Tournament suddenly happening again when it's supposed to be so dangerous? It just feels like… it feels like something is happening is all."

"Something bad?"

Edward shrugged rather helplessly. It seemed fairly bad to him, but maybe he was just overreacting.

Amazingly, Rose did not appear as scathing or disbelieving as Edward had expected her to be. He thought she'd say something along the lines of he'd been spending too much time with Alice, making ridiculous predictions like those, based on nothing more than gut feelings and hazy thoughts. But she didn't, only stared straight ahead as if mulling it all over and deciding what to say in response.

"Who said it?" she asked, "About the Low Coast and Knocturn Alley? Who was it?"

Edward hesitated, he had a feeling he'd regret this. "Erm… Bella Swan?"

Rosalie's considering expression was gone in an instant. She grabbed her bag, swung it over her shoulder, and was off once again toward the library.

"Wait, Rose! I—I really think there might be something going on!" he called, hurrying after her, "Look at all the signs, and trust me, I know how paranoid this sounds, but don't you think it's possible that—that _he_'s back?"

"You're being absolutely absurd, Edward," she scathed, "And to think I almost believed you for a moment… Bella Swan, honestly."

"Why does it matter if it's Bella Swan, what has she ever done to you anyway?"

Rose didn't answer and Edward, rather foolishly he would later realize, decided to press, "Are you… are you jealous of her or something?"

"Jealous?" she cried, "Of Bella Swan? Why would I be? What is there to be jealous of?"

"She's kind," said Edward at once, "And clever, and talented, and… and beautiful."

"Oh that's rich, Edward. I'll give you kind, but I'm a Slytherin in case you forgot. I don't exactly have any use for kindness. As for those other things, though? Don't make me laugh. I'm far cleverer, far more talented, and far more beautiful than Bella Swan."

"Fine," said Edward, sensing there would be no winning with Rose today, "Fine, you're the most beautiful, intelligent, talented witch in the whole school," he said, exasperated, "But I still don't see why it matters that it was Bella who said those things about the Low Coast and Knocturn Alley and who met with the hooded man."

"Because she's Bella Swan," said Rose, only slightly mollified by his patronizing, "And she's kind. In her entire Hogwarts career, she's not had a single detention, did you know that? She's never been in any kind of trouble in her whole life! Does she really seem the type to know about looming threats in the wizarding underworld?"

"But her father's the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She spent her summer there. That could mean—." Edward cut off with a startled, "Oi, are you alright?" He'd nearly stumbled over the younger sister of the very Head Girl he was discussing. Wandering slowly, and appearing a bit confused was Renesmee Dwyer.

"Oh, um, hello Rosalie, Edward," she said, smiling with a small amount of discomfort. She glanced around her and shyly tucked a few strands of her curly hair behind her ear. Edward wondered how she was settling in to her new House.

"Hello Renesmee," said Rose in a bizarrely friendly voice, "Were you looking for me or something?"

"Looking—oh, oh yes! Yes, I was looking for you, Rose."

"Do you need help with your homework? Edward and I were just going to the library, you can come along, if you'd like."

"Oh, um, well Bella already helped me with my homework, but… but I could still go back to the library with you if you don't mind. Maybe I could read ahead a little?"

"You should definitely read ahead," said Rose authoritatively, "Especially with being new to the wizarding world. You ought to read ahead as much as possible and learn the material better than anybody else. The other Slytherins will respect you if you can beat them academically. Swan might not have told you that—in Gryffindor they're not so interested in studies, you see."

"Oh, okay. Thank you Rosalie."

"It's what I'm here for."

Renesmee changed course, walking between them now in the direction of the library. They found a table near the Ancient Runes section and spread textbooks and parchment out across the surface.

"And so about the Triwizard Tournament," said Edward, ready to pick up where he'd left off in the corridor, "You have to agree it's odd, don't you? The British Ministry doesn't need to prove anything this go around, we're not in recovery from a dark lord and so why—?"

"Not now, Edward," snapped Rose, "We're here to study, and I want to drill Renesmee on her Potions assignment. Just… just give it a rest, will you?"

"Alright then, but what about Alice and the Quibbler. There's something off about the whole thing, don't you think? I mean, why did Mr. Wilmore, out of the blue, up and decide to hire a muggleborn like Alice? How did he even know about her? It's strange, don't you—?"

"Edward!" hissed Rosalie, "Shut up, will you! I'm not talking about this anymore. You'll have to get over it on your own. And not while Renesmee and I are trying to study, alright?"

"But—."

She glowered at him.

"Fine."

Classes did not run smoothly for Edward the rest of the week nor did they improve the week after. His essays did not suffer, thankfully, but as one might well imagine, there are a number of challenges involved with attending a school for magic when one does not have a functioning wand.

In Care of Magical Creatures, Edward stayed as far away from the, admittedly harmless looking nifflers Professor Berty had brought for them to study, as he could possibly manage. In Charms he received a zero for the day's practical assignment and a pitying look from Professor Cope when he tried to explain that it wasn't that he couldn't do the magic—he was fairly certain he could enchant hourglasses in his sleep—it's just that his wand was not working properly.

Transfiguration was about the same and the only classes where he received any sort of reprieve were Astronomy, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and surprisingly Potions. Professor Molina had them researching the mind-altering effects of Ergot's Fillip. Edward and Rose were meant to write about ways in which to control the subject's perception upon ingesting the potion. This, thankfully, required no magic whatsoever.

He wouldn't mind a research paper in Transfiguration right then, but alas, they never came when you wanted them.

And so, all in all, it was with a great sense of weariness that Edward met Alice down in the Ravenclaw Common Room on September the thirteenth. It was a Sunday and the first occasion for students third year and above to visit the town of Hogsmeade for the day. For Edward that meant perusing the used wands at Dervish and Bang's Second Hand Store, apparently for Alice, however, it meant a whole new market of witches and wizards to whom she could advertise and sell copies of the Quibbler. She was almost irritatingly dedicated to her work.

The two of them, without Rosalie—who apparently had better things to do that day—made their way to the village dressed in light jumpers and trousers. The weather was beginning to cool and a chilly breeze escorted them down the path away from the school.

At the second hand store, Edward tested out a few wands, all with varying levels of disaster as a result. He'd already been forced, by the shopkeeper, to buy one that burst into flames when he tried to use it. "Do you have any with a phoenix feather core?" he asked at last, looking toward the shopkeeper with a pleading expression, he was sure.

"Tha' _was_ a phoenix feather, wann't it?" he replied, "A might temperamental I'd reckon, but atween you and me, tha's why we don't keep 'em usually."

"Well how am I supposed to find a wand? None of these seem to like me?" said Edward, examining the vase nearby that'd exploded with the first wand he tried.

The shopkeeper, stout and elderly shrugged, "'Sa wand what chooses the wizard, innit?"

Yes, he knew that much quite well, but then what was one to do when they'd destroyed the wand that chose them? Was there nothing else in the whole world that would work for him? Or was it simply because he was trying wands that'd been used before? "Do you have anything, er, less volatile then?" he asked, ready to settle for any wand so long as it could perform some sort of magic without destruction.

"Reckon most wands are a bit volatile—but maybe a troll tooth wand, eh?"

"But trolls are _incredibly_ violent," protested Edward.

"Aye, but they're slow too, aren't they? Slow witted—none too quick ter burn down ma shop."

"Alright, I'll give it a go." Edward tried a thick grey colored wand and felt only the smallest hint of magic in response. But as the man said, when he gave it a wave, nothing caught fire or exploded. It would have to do.

He reached into his pocket to remove his money pouch but his hand found something shockingly hot instead. "Ouch!" exclaimed Edward.

"What is it?" asked Alice at once, who'd previously been exploring some old witches' hats on a display by the door. "I don't suppose there are flubbed caritoes in your pocket, are there? I read in the Quibbler that they sometimes infest second hand magical artifacts. They might've gotten on you."

"Er, maybe? There's… erm, something hot in my pocket. I—I don't know what it is."

Alice carefully positioned the sleeve of her jumper over her hand and then reached into his pocket and removed what appeared to be an ordinary galleon.

"Some sort of notice-me charm," mused Alice, "It's cooling off already."

She was studying the galleon very closely, apparently intent on reading the serial number off the outer rim of the coin. "What is it?" he asked.

"The letters," she replied, "They spell something."

"How do you mean?"

She handed him the galleon, which was indeed only uncomfortably warm now rather than scalding hot and Edward read the inscription. "_Hogshead-1100-Rm2A_," it said.

"What do you suppose—?"

"Some sort of meeting, I think," said Alice, eyes suddenly alight with excitement, "Apparently to be held in Room 2A at the Hogshead Pub at 11:00. That's in ten minutes—hey, we can still make it!"

"What? Of course we're not going to make it. Why would we even—?"

"It's a _secret_ _meeting_," began Alice eagerly, "With the location given out by code and… and apparently you've been invited."

"A secret meeting?" replied Edward dubiously, though he supposed the coin _was_ charmed with a rather specific message. In fact, it really wasn't much of a code at all. "Alright maybe there is some sort of meeting. But I rather doubt I've been invited. Who would invite me? And why? I'm not really known for this sort of thing, Alice. More likely the coin ended up in my jumper pocket accidentally, this is somebody else's secret meeting—assuming there actually is one."

"We should go," repeated Alice, "At least to see what it's about."

"No. We should one hundred percent not go."

Edward paid the shopkeeper at Dervish and Bangs and held the door for Alice so she could precede him back out into the autumn morning. He tucked his new wand into his cloak beside the old one and decided to head for the Three Broomsticks. An early lunch and then back to the castle to finish an essay for Arithmancy sounded like a brilliant idea in his opinion.

"But we have to go!" argued Alice, "It can't be a coincidence that the coin wound up in your pocket, Edward. Some secret organization is inviting you to join. We at least need to find out who."

"Why would we want to do that?"

"Come on Edward, it will be an adventure. Please, Edward? I really want to go."

"But I—."

"_Please?_"

For some inexplicable reason, Edward found he had the most difficult time saying no when Alice pled with him like this. He was sure she knew it too.

"But—but the Hogshead, Alice? That place is a bit dodgy, don't you think?"

"Yes, exactly!" she exclaimed, triumphant.

Apprehensively, Edward allowed Alice to lead him down High Street to a dark and dingy old pub. The windows were caked with filth and grime and the rotted old sign said, "Ye Olde Hogshead Pub and Inn".

"Alright now what?" said Edward once they'd entered the pub. The only lighting in the room came from cobweb covered wall sconces and a low burning fire in the back. The barkeep, a grey haired man with sharp features eyed them suspiciously from where he stood behind the bar.

"Now we find room 2-A," replied Alice. She motioned to a door on the other side of the pub, "I think the stairs are through there."

And indeed they were. The old oaken stairs smelled of rot and wood lice. They let out onto a landing that held a large portrait of a blonde haired child that smiled at them beatifically— her light blue dress and bright background a stark contrast to the rest of their surroundings.

The portrait girl waved at Edward as soon as she saw him and Edward, uncertainly, waved back. She tilted her oiled head to the side while she examined them, and then she pointed to her wrist as if indicating the time before motioning to her right where a small corridor held four wooden doors.

"Um, don't you talk?" asked Edward.

The girl shook her head sadly and motioned once again down the corridor, more specifically toward the door on the farthest end of the hallway.

"Are we meant to… to go in there? Is that what you're trying to tell us?"

She nodded enthusiastically. She pointed to her wrist again as if indicating an invisible watch and Edward glanced at his own watch. "Er, I reckon we're a bit late," he told Alice.

"Better late than never," recited Alice, "But let's not be later than we have to be. Come on, Edward, at least knock."

Reluctantly, Edward raised his fist to the door and knocked twice—it seemed like an appropriate number for a secret meeting. Any more and they were just asking to be noticed, he decided—not that he had much experience with secret meetings, mind.

The door opened and Edward was surprised, and quite intimidated, to find a very tall, very muscular man staring out at them with slate blue eyes. He was menacing looking, Edward decided, observing the unfamiliar young man. In reality he was probably no more than two or three years older than Edward, but he was vast and towering—and not exactly friendly looking in Edward's opinion.

Edward felt quite vindicated in thinking this was a _very_ bad idea. And now that he was here and facing the meeting's door guard, he began to wonder about what sort of people generally had secret meetings.

The answer was criminals, that's who. And dark wizards. All manner of dangerous wizards had secret meetings and used codes to alert their members. What an _awful_ idea it had been to poke around for nothing more than their own curiosity. He could scarcely even think of a more harebrained way to die.

"What is it?" the young man asked, his large frame blocking their view into the room.

Unperturbed, Alice held up the coin, "We're here for the meeting," she told him. Edward turned and stared at her in consternation. Was she completely oblivious to the man's threating air? Didn't she feel endangered at all?

The man took the coin, observed it closely and then nodded, handing it back to Alice. "Names?"

"Alice Brandon and Edward Cullen," she replied confidently.

And now she was giving him their real names?

That proved to be a good idea, however, for the young man relaxed at once. A dimpled smile softened his features considerably and he asked, "Well, why didn't you say so? You two are late, you know. The meeting's already begun."

Bewildered, Edward followed him into a medium sized sleeping area that'd been converted to a sort of… of classroom? Or lecture hall might have been a better comparison. Anyway, it was full of chairs formed into a semi-circle, with a slightly raised dais in the middle. The most disconcerting part, however, was that it was chalk full of people Edward recognized.

"Rose?" said Edward, "What—what are you doing here?"

She was seated in one of the chairs closest to the door, adjacent a young man Edward recognized as her older brother Jasper. He'd left Hogwarts two years ago and if Edward recalled correctly, was in the Auror Training Program at the Ministry of Magic.

"Same thing you are, arsehole," she snapped, "Joining Dumbledore's Army."

Disclaimer: Settings and people in this fanfiction are the intellectual property rights of, you guessed it, not me. I'm grateful to be allowed to play and I will have to leave it at that.


	5. Chapter 5: Dumbledore's Army

Chapter 5: Dumbledore's Army

The Hogshead room 2-A was not _quite_ as dark and dingy as the rest of the pub. The windows were charmed sealed and opaque, but in the air, above the heads of all the young wizards and witches who'd assembled within, there were floating bulbs of light—suspended by magic and nothing else.

Beneath the greatest concentration of these lights, seated on a stiff and perfunctory sort of chair was a man Edward had not seen before outside of Flourish and Blotts bookstore in Diagon Alley, though he did know him. The store clerk, Brian Livingstone, appeared a great deal more impressive when not draped in the burgundy shop robes of the book store. And what's more, he did not come off as quite so stroppy when speaking to a group of highly engaged witches and wizards—people Edward thought, on the whole, could be considered fairly respectable—well, apart from the Head Boy, Newton, and his friends, anyway.

Newton, as it would happen, had placed himself directly behind the raised dais in an apparent seat of authority, his Head Boy badge gleaming in the magical light. Beside him was Bella Swan and Frasier Longbottom, both looking quite engaged in Livingstone's introductions.

"We all know why we're here," Livingstone told them seriously, and upon meeting Edward's eye, his grave expression faltered a bit—morphing into something of a smirk. "Well most of you do, anyway. This is, essentially, a recruitment. And if you're here, it means you've shown some, er, _interest _in preventing dark wizards from taking over magical Britain—most specifically, Lord Voldemort." Livingstone's expression grew serious again as he looked past Edward to the other occupants of the room. "Some of you have noticed the signs already, I think. And for those of you who haven't, here's the summary: he's coming back. And he's coming back soon."

The room was very quiet in response to this, as though they'd all taken a breath and were waiting to let it out. Edward glanced at Rosalie and she very carefully avoided his eye.

"Voldemort's been biding his time, building his base of support," continued Livingstone, "For years, centuries even, wizards within this organization have quietly fought him—secretly kept him from gaining power the same way he's secretly sought it out. But he's finally managed it and it won't be long now before he returns to Britain. This was discovered above a wizard's home in Italy."

Livingstone took out a newspaper whose title read _Giornale Toscano_. On the front page was a picture of a disturbing bit of sky art—a faintly lit skull and a snake protruding from its decayed mouth.

"The wizard family inside were all found dead. And as for that?" he said, pointing to the skull, "That's _his_ mark—the mark all the deatheaters wore. It's called—."

Livingstone didn't finish. Instead a voice cut him off very suddenly, "How?" asked Mike Newton in a tone Edward had never heard from him before. He looked quite surprised at Livingstone's claim and horrified at the image of the Dark Mark—a symbol Edward recognized thanks to the book Livingstone had recommended. Anxiously he pressed, "How did this happen? Why didn't you stop him? Isn't that… isn't that what you _do_? We're just here to learn some spells… but you can't be saying… He can't _actually_ be back, can he?"

Beside him, Bella Swan shifted uncomfortably.

Livingstone looked grimmer than ever.

"Voldemort is nothing if not cunning. And Dumbledore's Army has always been able to keep him subdued if we cannot outright kill him. We, Sinbad Mariner before me, and Vernon Dudley before him… none of us, has ever been infallible. But you are right, Mr. Newton, attempting to stop him is _exactly_ what we do. It's up to you if you want to help."

Despite what Newton said, nobody in the room, not even Newton himself appeared to doubt Livingstone. Around Edward on all sides, the news of Voldemort's return after two hundred years was being taken very seriously.

"Why can't he be killed?" asked Rosalie shrewdly, "What is it exactly that's keeping him alive? Do you know? It's been two hundred years, hasn't it? It doesn't make any sense for him not to have died from something by now."

"Very dark magic," replied Livingstone, "I'm afraid I really can't say more than that right now."

"How do you know for sure it's him?" asked Edward's fellow Ravenclaw prefect, Carmen Ricardo, "Couldn't it be a copy-cat? Or… or… something else?"

A man who had, other than introducing himself as Eleazar Enriquez, remained quietly seated beside Livingstone on the dais, stood to answer. He was dressed in dark trousers and a button down shirt over which he'd draped a thick, gabardine cloak. His black hair was pulled into a pony tail at the nape of his neck and his olive skin crinkled at the forehead when he spoke. "Crimes involving dark magic are today at a record low in my country," he said, "My friends from Portugal say it is the same, and France. The Dark Mark in Italy is the only incident for months—though it is a very big inident. Do you know why this is, Miss…?"

"Erm, Ricardo," she answered, blushing slightly, "Carmen Ricardo."

"Carmen," he said, "Do you know why this is?"

She shook her head, muttering something along the lines of, "Exceptionally talented aurors?"

He frowned and the lines on his forehead deepened. "It is because they are at a record high here in Britain. Here is where the dark wizards from all over the continent are coming. They are gathering here, they arrive with illegal portkeys along the Low Coast, more every day. But why?"

"Be…because Voldemort told them to?" said Carmen.

"He sends them here because he comes here," said Eleazar, "He seeks to take over his homeland. He will likely start at Hogwarts. This is why we recruit. Hogwarts should be protected."

"But why?" asked Edward, appalled enough to speak, "Why would Voldemort attack a school of all places? Wouldn't he—isn't there _other_—what about the Ministry of Magic itself? Why a school over the ministry?"

"Untrained students who know nothing of how to protect themselves from the Dark Arts are easy targets. The castle itself will be a stronghold—easy to defend once he has possession."

Edward still wasn't so sure. He could not imagine Hogwarts being invaded by dark wizards. All he could picture was first years like Renesmee trampling around the grounds—a troupe of murderers had no place in his vision.

"It has always been his goal to capture the school," added Livingstone, "Voldemort wants it. He wants the school for personal reasons and knows how beneficial it will be to have it. There is very little that would persuade him otherwise, though I think death would be chief among the list of possibilities."

"_Can_ he even die?" asked Rosalie, "I mean the bastard ought to be long dead by now, but somehow he's not? Is it even possible to kill him?"

"I'm not a hundred percent sure," admitted Livingstone, "Like his obsession with Hogwarts, Voldemort has always been enamored of the idea of immortality."

The room was quiet after that, all apparently startled at the disturbing thought. Edward was still caught up on imagining Voldemort attacking the school.

Edward remembered what Livingstone had first said to him when they spoke over the summer at Flourish and Blotts. He'd said Headmaster Chaferson had been attempting to reinstate a Defense against the Dark Arts course at Hogwarts for the entirety of his tenure, but it'd never succeeded. Edward himself, a reasonably talented seventh year student couldn't even cast a spell to stun a potential attacker. Where would that leave Hogwarts if Voldemort really did decide to mount a siege?

"The students of Hogwarts need to learn how to defend themselves," said Livingstone, breaking the silence in the room, "But they can't unless they have a teacher. But the question is, how can we convince the Ministry and the Hogwarts Board of Directors to allow Defense to be taught at Hogwarts again? What has to happen to make the board change their minds?"

It was fortunate that Livingstone's question was rhetorical because Edward didn't have a clue.

"We need to _give them a reason_ to hire someone to teach the students Defense," said Livingstone. "They have to realize how helpless our students are without this sort of training. And they have to see it before it's too late—that is, assuming it's not too late already."

At that moment, Livingstone took out his wand and summoned a parchment which Edward and Alice had been told to sign when they came in. He quickly scanned through the names and then folded it up and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket.

"That brings us to the real reason I summoned you all here today. We," he motioned to Enriquez and himself, "Have a plan to convince the board to hire a Defense Professor. I'll tell you right now, it's er, a bit drastic in nature. Basically, by signing that parchment, you are all swearing that you're not going to reveal anything we talk about in this meeting to anybody who is not a member of Dumbledore's Army. So, if you don't think you can keep mum about this, there's the door. Got it?"

Uncomfortably, Edward nodded along with those around him.

"Alright, here goes…"

What followed was an extremely dangerous, and extraordinarily convoluted plan that would undoubtedly, just as Livingstone predicted, convince the Hogwarts Board of Directors that the students were quite helpless in regards to defending themselves from dark magical creatures. Edward stared at Livingstone as he finished explaining. He stared very hard. Had the man always been this crazy?

Edward leaned over and whispered to Alice, "I don't care what he says, we _need_ to tell the headmaster about this. Chaferson has to know. I think it's extremely unlikely the headmaster would allow something like this. It's too dangerous. We'll be risking our very lives…"

"Erm, Edward?" whispered back Alice, "I'm not sure how to tell you this but, er, Mr. Livingstone and Headmaster Chaferson are… well…"

Edward groaned, suddenly remembering the very Slytherin nature of their headmaster, "Oh don't tell me, Chaferson is behind this one hundred percent, isn't he? He probably put Livingstone up to this, didn't he? I'll bet they're friends. Like two peas in a pod, those two are."

"Well not exactly," said Alice, "More like one pea, really…" she trailed off as Enriquez stood up to speak again.

"The sand adder is a very rare dark creature," said Enriquez, "They were brought to my country long ago by the Moors to keep the Iberian wizards under control. They feed off magic. When they bite, they hold on, siphoning off a creature (or wizard's) magic until it is all gone—and then the victim will die. The sand adders are very resistant to magic—reductos and explusos, these do nothing. But my ancestor, Eleazar the Expeller, a wizard in the court of Isabella of Aragon, crafted a spell to ward them off—to send them away from my country once and for all. I will be teaching you this spell today and you will use it to protect the students of Hogwarts from danger when the adders are released."

"We don't want _any_ of the innocent students of Hogwarts to actually be hurt," clarified Livingstone, "We only want to frighten them, and through them, the Board. And just enough to make them reinstate some basic Defense instruction."

"Now, I would like everyone to stand and to hold their wands in a low salute," said Enriquez. Edward warily stood with everyone around him and took out his new wand. "And Mr. Livingstone? If you would be very kind…"

"Already?" asked Livingstone and at Enriquez' nod he said, "Alright then. Er, try not to panic you lot." He waved his wand and suddenly the room erupted in screams.

"They're not real," said Livingstone, picking up one of several limp, but otherwise quite realistic looking beige colored snakes. The length of the faux-snake was about the same as a human but its girth much more like that of a crocodile. Its scaly skin was dotted with flakes of cerulean blue.

Edward stared at the one nearest him in shock. He was not alone in doing so. The witches in the room were nearly all standing on their chairs along with several of the wizards that apparently cared less for their dignity than their safety. Edward thought that was very wise of them and wondered what it would have taken to send him up onto one of those chairs as well.

Frasier Longbottom had toppled his chair over in his rush to get away and even Bella Swan was watching the fakes all very warily.

"So this is what a sand adder looks like," said Alice in her typical unbothered way, "We're meant to practice with these?"

"Yes, exactly," said Livingstone, "Eleazar thinks they'll help."

"I do not think, I know. It is important to look into the eyes when producing the spell. It will not work otherwise."

Edward's gaze travelled up the long and scaly body to the pointed head of the nearest sand adder. The eyes were like shiny black taws with cobalt flakes. It looked hungry, which of course made no sense at all as the conjured adder wasn't even real. And yet…

"The incantation is _Salvia_ _Ostium_ and the wand motion is this," continued Enriquez. Starting with his wand arm extended and slightly raised, Enriquez jabbed his wand in a sideways arc. The nearest adder was thrown across the room.

"This spell will cause the adder's magical defenses to be weakened if you have done it correctly. From there you must cast _Immobulus_ to hold the adder still until you decide what to do with him. Understand, everyone? Good, pair off and begin."

Edward turned to face Alice, "Partners?" he asked. She nodded happily. Edward absently noticed she was the only Sixth Year there. Everyone else was Seventh Years and recent graduates.

Rosalie paired off with the large wizard who'd shown them in. He was apparently good friends with her brother Jasper and he took great delight in sending the adder as close to Rosalie as he could manage—to which Rosalie responded by _accidentally_ missing the adder with her spell altogether and hitting the wizard, an auror in training, named Emmett, straight in the face.

Edward shook his head, attempting to concentrate so that his spell would work properly. Alice had already managed the spell several times but Edward was still struggling to produce more than a wispy blue light from the end of his wand. Growing fed up with his less than fully functioning wand, Edward glowered at the sand adder and said the incantation one last time. Rather than failing to produce any results, however, this time his wand threw out a bolt of blue light and a bang, sending their adder up into the air, over the raised dais in the center of the room, and finally onto the ground beyond it.

"Oh, well done, Edward!" exclaimed Alice, "That was incredible, wasn't it?"

Edward looked at his new wand. It suddenly felt quite dangerous in his hand—dangerous and stupid. Hadn't the bloody thing realized he'd been trying to cast that spell for the last half hour? Honestly, this thing was defective. But at least it wasn't dead, he supposed.

Morose again at the thought of his old wand, Edward trailed Alice over to the other side of the room to recapture their adder. When he looked up, Alice was standing over the snake with a thoughtful expression on her face. "Um…" said Edward. This surely wouldn't be good.

"We're learning object animation this week in Charms," said Alice, "Professor Cope had us practicing on parchment drawings, but eventually we're to use the charm to animate other things."

"Er yeah," said Edward, "I remember learning that last year."

"I think it would be helpful to practice _Salvia Ostium_ on the snake if it's moving, don't you agree, Edward? It'd make this all much more realistic."

"I suppose, but maybe we ought to—."

"_Corpus Animus,_" she whispered, flicking her wand. The snake began to move. "Now, Edward!" pressed Alice, "Hit it with your spell."

The creature's glassy eyes looked up at Edward and Edward felt a very shaky breath pass his lungs. He was very tempted to climb up on the nearest chair to get away from the thing as it advanced.

"Come on, Edward!" exclaimed Alice, "Just like before, hit it!"

Edward held up his wand and said the incantation. The result was once again nothing more than a whispy blue light though and Edward cursed under his breath. The snake was advancing faster now.

"_SALVIA OSTIUM, IMMOBULUS, REDUCTO!"_ suddenly exclaimed a voice from just behind Edward.

The snake shot away from him, froze in place, and then exploded into a million tiny scales. Flecks of charred beige and blue landed in a pile a broom's length away and then, "_Scourgify,_" the mess was gone.

"Sorry," said Bella Swan, "I just… really hate snakes is all."

The Hogshead room 2-A was suddenly very silent, and very still, all staring with mouths agape. The flickering balls of light above them was the only thing to move for several long seconds. Livingstone, however, was the one to break the trance. He'd been on the other side of the room, helping Benjamin Summons and his friend Mendel Scamander at the time, but he quickly strode over. "Well done, Miss Swan," he said simply.

That seemed to do the trick. The room descended on the Head Girl at once, surrounded her, asking how she'd managed it, praising her grand achievement, and being generally annoying, in Edward's scathing opinion. Mr. Enriquez was chief among them, telling Bella he was sure she had some defensive talent. Edward grabbed Alice by the arm and backed away, straight into Brian Livingstone.

"Alright, Mr. Cullen?" he said.

He looked amused again, much to Edward's chagrin.

"Yes," replied Edward grumpily, "I suppose I should thank you for inviting me to this… this thing?"

"You could," said Livingstone.

"Well I would if you'd bothered to tell me what it was. A coded message on a blazing hot galleon is really no way to go about it."

Livingstone looked slightly sheepish and Edward for the life of him, could not tell if the man was mocking him or not. "I reckon I thought the only way you'd come was to appease your Ravenclaw curiosity."

"Well then you were wrong. I'm not really that curious, generally. I only came because Alice forced me."

"Ah." Livingstone smiled again and winked at Alice, "Well done then, Alice. Good thing you insisted on coming. Once again you were right. I've learned not to bet against you, I think."

Edward turned on Alice, "You—you knew about this?" he demanded.

"I don't know why you're so surprised, Edward," she chided, "I know lots of things."

"But—but, you should have told me!" he exclaimed and then in a rapid whisper he told her exactly what was on his mind, "I thought we were going to be killed or interrupt some criminal operation here! And—and this isn't the first time this year you've known things you shouldn't and kept it from me. I thought we were supposed to be friends Alice, or have you decided you don't need me anymore? Now that you've teamed up with Livingstone and that Wilmore fellow—whom incidentally, I don't trust at all—you don't need me to protect you anymore, is that it? Well that's just fine then. I don't exactly need you either, now do I?"

It was only when he'd finished his rant that he noticed Alice had crystalline tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. The slightly smug, but genuinely happy expression she'd worn after Livingstone's comment about not betting against her had evaporated entirely. And with a sinking feeling, Edward realized he was the one who'd taken it.

"Oh, Alice, I didn't mean…"

She didn't say anything. Only turned and left.

"Wait, Alice!"

He made to follow her but found his path blocked by a fuming Rosalie.

"What did you do, Cullen?" she all but snarled at him.

"I—I didn't—well, I suppose I said some things I shouldn't have. But you've seen her this year, haven't you? She's been acting very strangely, you have to agree. I just…"

"You are such an idiot, Edward," said Rose nastily, "I'll handle this. You stay here."

With that she turned on her heel and slammed the door to the Hogshead room 2-A behind her. The others in the room, in the latest edition of Dumbledore's Army were slowly returning to their practice on the fake adders. Edward stayed put, staring at the door and wishing he could go back in time and undo the mess he'd just made. Too bad time turners had been destroyed centuries ago.

"Chocolate frog?" said Livingstone, whom Edward had quite forgotten in his fight with Alice.

"Erm…"

"Chocolate's meant to help with guilt. It'll give you a clearer mind."

"Alright then, uh, thanks."

"Not a problem, Edward. I've stuck my foot in my mouth before plenty of times—taken my friends for granted too. It's human nature, I reckon. Just make sure you apologize, yeah? Alice is very special."

"Don't I know it," said Edward.

Livingstone looked very satisfied with his contrite tone. He nodded. "I'll just leave you to it then, shall I?"

With no more fake sand adder with which to practice the _Salvia Ostium_, Edward found himself seated once more in the chair nearest the door. Blankly, he watched Rosalie's brother Jasper and his friend Emmett practicing far more advanced magic on their adder than Edward had ever seen.

But when the snake was just as disintegrated as the one Bella had cursed, Jasper cast a "_Scourgify,_" and then told Livingstone they had to get back to work. Livingstone thanked them for coming and Edward was left to brood on other things, like why he'd been so short with Alice.

From there, the room slowly began to empty. Soon it was just Bella Swan and the group of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs that tended to hang around her left over. Edward looked on with growing interest as before they left, Livingstone took Bella aside and had a very grave looking conversation with her. Bella's face was mired in determination as she nodded her agreement to whatever Livingstone had to say.

_But what was he saying?_ Edward wanted to know. He was clearly telling her something very significant. And why didn't any of her friends appear as curious as Edward felt. Was it because she was Head Girl? Did they simply expect people to have important things to say to her because of that? Or was it because her father was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, perhaps? Or maybe it had to do with her mother's family? Edward had heard they came from the Selwin's, purebloods that dated back almost as far as the founding of Hogwarts itself. Did that sort of heritage mean something significant to them?

Edward didn't know. What he did know was he was quite taken aback when before leaving, Bella Swan stopped just before his chair and looked right at him (Edward was sure because he cast a surreptitious look behind him to ensure nobody else was around).

"Erm, something the matter, Bella?"

"I suppose I could ask you the same thing," she replied.

Edward realized he must look quite pathetic sitting there brooding for the last half an hour.

"Did—did Rosalie break up with you or something?"

Edward looked up sharply, "Did Rose…" he trailed off, trying out the preposterous idea. "You mean, Rose and I—as in—oh no. Absolutely not. Rosalie and I are not dating," said Edward, "We never have and never will. We don't even like each other half the time. She's kind of… well you know… and I? Uh, just no. That would never, _ever_ work."

"But I heard you say she was the most beautiful—, ah, never mind." Bella was blushing and Edward found himself quite transfixed by the sight. Rosalie more beautiful than this? The idea was laughable.

Despite her flushed skin, Bella did appear rather pleased with the news. Edward smiled at her smile, but honestly, he'd had no idea Bella disliked Rosalie so strongly. He'd always thought the lack of amicability between them was all Rosalie's fault. But clearly the distaste was mutual.

"Well then," began Bella, "A few of us were going to head to the Three Broomsticks for a while. Just until dusk, we won't be late getting back to the school or anything."

"Erm, okay," said Edward, wondering why she was telling him this. It wasn't like he was going to report her even if she was late. Maybe Newton… but only if he could make it so only he would get in trouble and not Bella.

"Anyway, if you're not too busy, maybe you'd like to come too?"

Edward blinked, "You want me to… to go with you to the Three Broomsticks?"

"Er well yes, several of us are going actually. Just a small celebration—not that I really want a celebration or anything, but if you're not too busy… maybe you could—?"

Just then Mike Newton approached and wrapped his arm around Bella in a disgustingly possessive sort of way. "Ready to go Bella?" he asked.

She was flushing again, probably thanks to Newton's proximity and Edward decided he had no intention of tolerating Newton for any more time than he absolutely had to. The Hufflepuff Head Boy was glaring at him, as usual. Edward barely refrained from rolling his eyes the way Rosalie always did.

And besides, he really did have an essay to finish for Arithmancy.

He gave them his excuse and then returned to the castle. He didn't see Alice or Rosalie for lunch—probably both still angry with him and so decided to sit with Renesmee—a peculiar decision that had the Slytherins at the table all regarding him quite warily.

Renesmee on the other hand was happy enough to have him. She told him all about her day, exploring the castle with a Gryffindor called Claire Young. She explained about her classes, how excited she was for their first flying lesson with Coach Clapp and how she couldn't wake to take Care of Magical Creatures as she'd heard that was Bella's favorite class.

Renesmee, like most first years, could talk quite a lot, but Edward found he didn't mind so much. She was highly endearing. In fact, there was something almost magnetic about her. And it was more than just her resemblance to Bella. Edward was comforted by this fact, she would likely survive Slytherin just fine.

When lunch was finished, Edward offered her the chocolate frog Livingstone had given him earlier.

"Oh, I love these!" she said. She tore open the package and to her delight found a very rare and very valuable collecting card inside.

"Look, Edward, it's Harry Potter!"

Edward adjusted his glasses and looked at the picture. Sure enough, a young, dark-haired wizard with thick rimmed bifocals stared back at him, looking bored. Edward briefly wondered why there were never any likenesses of Potter when he was older. It was always seventeen year-old Harry Potter—never fully grown adult Harry Potter. But why? He'd married and had kids, hadn't he?

Edward stared for a moment, trying to get a glimpse of the infamous scar, but Potter's fringe seemed to be covering it.

"Well look at that," said Edward at last, "You know, you could fetch quite a few galleons for that card, you know." He was only teasing though. Only someone desperate would sell a card like that.

"I think I'll give it to Bella," said Renesmee, "It's her birthday today, you know. I wish I could have gone to her party in Hogsmeade, but I'm not old enough. Only third years are allowed to leave the castle and visit the village."

"It's her bir… is it really? Is today really Bella's birthday, Renesmee? And she's really having a party at the Three Broomsticks?" And had he really declined attending her birthday so he could finish an essay for Arithmancy? Rosalie was right, he really was an idiot.

"It's only small," said Renesmee, sensing Edward's discomfort, "Only her close, _close _friends were invited. Even I wasn't invited and I'm her sister, aren't I? Don't feel bad, Edward. If you want, you can come to _my_ birthday party. Mine was three days ago, but mum said we could have a real party when I come home for Christmas."

"I—I, erm, thanks Renesmee."

"You're welcome. It will be fun. Mum said she would get a unicorn—but I don't know if she was being serious or not. I think Dad would pass out if she brought a real unicorn, he's new to magic. Oh, and Edward, did you ever notice you sort of look like Harry Potter?"

Edward glanced at the card. "Huh."

"It's a bit uncanny, really. Is he a distant relative of yours or something?"

"I don't see how he can be," said Edward, "I'm muggleborn."

"Really?" said Renesmee, surprised, "Are you sure?"

"Um… no, I'm not, now that you mention it. I'm not sure at all, about anything really. Excuse me, I've an essay to finish for Arithmancy."

"Okay, bye Edward!"

Edward wandered back to his common room in a daze. There was still no sign of Alice and Edward was really starting to worry.

It was only after sunset that she and the rest of the Ravenclaws third year and above returned to the common room, looking red from the chilly weather outside. "You'll never guess where I just was," said Alice, sitting down beside Edward on the couch. Edward was pleased to note that she'd apparently forgiven him his outburst earlier.

"Er, where? The Shrieking Shack?"

"No, silly, at the Three Broomsticks. Rose and I went there after we left the Hogshead and Emmett and Jasper came in for lunch, and after that Bella Swan and some of her friends came. Did you know today's Bella's birthday?"

"Er, yeah, I did," said Edward.

Alice harrumphed, "Well now who's keeping things secret they shouldn't?"

"I only just found out," said Edward at once, "Renesmee told me at lunch."

She looked appeased, and excitedly began to recount the events of her afternoon. "Well Madam Longbottom, that's Frasier's mum was there too, and she brought out this giant cake. She and Mr. Longbottom own the Three Broomsticks and they had a whole area blocked off for Bella's party and they'd decorated it with bouncing balloons and shooting stars made out of ribbons. It was really very pretty.

"Anyway," continued Alice, still beaming over the whole thing, "Bella invited us over to have some cake with them—and apparently Emmett can't say no to cake. He remembered Bella from when he was at Hogwarts as they're in the same House. And oh, Edward, it was so much fun! It was a fortune telling cake too, mine had a sickle in it which is good luck. And Bella let me help her open her presents and she wasn't mad at all that we didn't get her anything. She was actually a bit relieved. I think she doesn't really like getting presents or at least not opening them in front of everybody."

"Right, she doesn't like being the center of attention," remarked Edward, "I think that's part of what makes her a good Head Girl. She doesn't let the power get to her head, you know."

Alice agreed heartily. "All in all, Bella was very nice—even to Rosalie, but Rose wasn't being as mean as usual either. I think Emmett was distracting her too much. But what I'm trying to say is, I can see why you like her so much, Edward. I like her too. I think we're going to be good friends."

"That's—that's great, Alice."

She smiled happily.

Edward frowned and pretended to busy himself with his Arithmancy book. He should be happy for Alice too. She was so very rarely this pleased. Usually she was just removed from everyone else's emotions—detached and concerned with things beyond the ordinary plane, or so it seemed anyway. But instead, all Edward could feel was enviousness.

He pictured the way Newton had wrapped his arm around Bella's shoulders earlier at the Hogshead when she'd invited him to the Three Broomsticks. It wasn't a nice feeling.

Disclaimer: The characters and situations mentioned within this story are the intellectual property rights of two lovely and brilliant women who are, unfortunately, not me. I post this story, not for financial gain, but because I enjoy writing it (a little too much) and playing with their characters and settings (way too much). I hope anyone who happens to be reading enjoys as much as I do.


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